Burning Bright
by Michael Spenik
Summary: Richard Michaels, Executioner of the Houston Pack, is acclimating to his role as a leader in the shapeshifter community, until while on acting in his usual Merc role, is taken far from home. Tasha works hard to keep the Clan under control while his people go in search of their lost Alpha.


The Houston sky is clear, the stars winking in the night sky with only a sliver of a moon on the horizon. Richard Michaels watches the moon with a wistful expression as he considers his life and the world he lives in. He stands on the roof of his company's building, Hoffman Resource's, wearing jeans, a brown t-shirt and no shoes as he enjoys the slight breeze as it wafts the scents of the city to him. His nose can detect more with the magic up, and he considers the subtle scents of humanity as they pass his palate.

Richard stands at five and a half feet tall, but is stocky and solid, looking like a biker, with a perpetual scowl on his face, though a sardonic or sarcastic smirk often used to tug at the corners of his mouth, though now it tugs less often. He has short, dirty blond hair normally in a high and tight, though now buzzed close to his head. His rough features on his medium tanned skin are solid and stern, and his hazel eyes scan the distance, flecks of gold in his iris from his inner Tiger.

He's been a shapeshifter now for three months, and life is interesting to say the least. His survival and not losing control and going Loup was a surprise to everyone, considering he'd been attacked by six Loup shapeshifters of various species. Subsequently, he'd become part of the local Pack, and while not rivaling the US's largest Pack in Atlanta, was well over six hundred shapeshifters of a number of different species and not a group to take lightly. After joining he'd challenged and beaten his Alpha as well as his kids, become the Executioner for Clan Heavy, third ranked in his clan, and appointed CEO of Hoffman Resources. All in all, he's been busy, and that doesn't even touch on the various challenges, contracts, bounties he's been involved in, his romance with his girlfriend Tasha Nash, or the epic battle with the Norse Honored dead, also known as einherjar, a couple weeks after shifting.

He'd explored the roof in detail a month or so ago, and has since upgraded it. Since a few weeks ago, and has taken to using it to practice his sword and knife fighting forms when working at Hoffman's. He had just finished a set of complex short sword practices, as he's becoming more comfortable with the enchanted gladius he now carries on a regular basis. He catches a slight flitting of movement in the shadows outside his building, and his inner beast tenses as he catches a slight hint of a particular flavor in the air.

He turns from the ledge and picks up his weapons belt, his gladius and axe on opposite hips and a couple knives on it as well. The axe was the result of and enchantment with a frost giant he'd killed on his land, and the sword a gift from his girlfriend and one of his employees, Alex Hoffman, and has a flame enchantment pulled from the heart of a fire giant. He had named the sword Blaze and the axe Spike. He buckles the belt and scans the edge of the roof, waiting to see if he receives a visitor or if his nose was simply catching a passing scent.

A few moments pass where he simply stands still, and then a shadow edges up from the ledge and hunches there. A shriveled human body with no body fat and skin pulled tight over its muscles and bones, elongated teeth and claws on its hands, with a pair of bloodthirsty red eyes staring at him with a focused intensity. The creature, a human infected with the Imortuus pathogen that turned it into a vampire, crouches and perches on the ledge, then opens its mouth while staring at him.

"Mr. Michaels, I would like to have a word with you," a young woman's voice says from the mouth.

"I'm sorry, we're closed for walk-ins for the day, you'll have to call the front desk to schedule an appointment," Richard says blankly, crossing his arms and scanning the roof for other creatures.

"I am on a tight schedule and am unavailable to schedule an appointment," the woman's voice says with annoyance. "My name is Nancy Hilcorn, and I am a Journeyman with the People. I am here to extend you a contract, per standard Mercenary Guild standards. It is a hefty sum for a successful completion, and you came highly recommended from the guild representative for this particular task."

"I have a tight schedule as well, make an appointment," Richard says with a frown, walking to the roof exit while not losing sight of the vampire.

"Fifteen thousand dollars, upon completion, the job will only take two hours, if your reputation is not exaggerated," Hilcorn says, and Richard pauses at the amount suggested.

"Fifteen grand," Richard repeats. "Is this legal?"

"Yes," she replies with a nod from the vampire's head. "We have a bounty out for a journeyman who is responsible for the theft of two vampires of considerable worth. The retrieval of the vampires is important, but the reputation of the People is paramount. We will pay twenty percent extra if you complete the contract prior to sunup."

"Info?" Richard asks, thinking it over.

"In a folder at your front desk," the vampire responds. "We have a vampire monitoring his location, we stumbled upon him earlier today."

"Why not use your own assets?" Richard asks.

"We have limited assets available, and leveraging the bounty is a better cost analysis," the navigator says.

"Lawyers, the lot of you," Richard says with a sigh. "But you do pay. How far?"

"Ten miles, northeast of your location, Taj Mola apartment complex," she replies.

"I'll grab the file and will be there shortly," he says with a nod. "No promises on the retrieval of the vampires. I'm no navigator and if they are not caged, they are collateral."

"Better than paying death benefits and bad press for them running loose," Hilcorn replies.

"Lawyers," Richard mutters and exits the roof, quickening his stride.

Richard hurries down the stairs and the hall from his office down to the first floor and to the front desk. He's nearly running by the time he gets there, his mind running over the things a pair of uncontrolled vampires will do to an apartment building.

"Boss, a vampire dropped this off," Kate, the were-rat receptionist at the front desk says with a frown of distaste, wiping cheese from her hands as she hands him a file.

"Make a note in the log, I was offered a bounty to bring in a Journeyman Navigator, with a twenty percent bonus if I complete before dawn," he says, flipping through the file and scanning the contents.

"That's under three hours off, boss," Kate says, writing in the log book on the desk. "How much is the bounty?"

"Fifteen large without the bonus," Richard says, scanning the pages. "Two vamps and the navigator at an apartment complex ten miles from here."

"Backup?" Kate asks with a glance at the intermittently working phone on the desk.

"No, I have this," he says with a shake of his head. "Just make sure it's logged and Alex gets the word. Tasha too, if you get a chance."

"No problem," Kate says with a nod, then glances at him. "No appointments tomorrow, nothing til the day after, the Jameson account."

"I'll send word if I need anything, ya'll do the same," Richard says, striding out the door to his horse.

He unties his sturdy mare that he rode today, mounting up and trotting down the road while swapping out the axe on his hip for a long bladed dagger. An hour later, having ridden past the apartment complex once, he dismounts and climbs to the top of a ruined building a block away from the complex. He creeps from shadow to shadow, and soon he's crouching outside the third floor window, his nose fluttering in the night to drink in the scents of the apartment within.

Wolfsbane is heavy, itching his nose and dulling his sense of smell, but the oily stench of undead is unmistakable to his instincts. He eases to the side of the window and can see claw marks on the inside of the window, they had been careful not to mark the outside but not the inside. He pulls himself up the opposite side of the window and jams the iron spike slowly into the ledge on the roof, tying off the end of the rope he'd left next to it.

He checks the length of the rope, adjusts his grip, then leaps out into nothingness, away from the wall and building. He holds on with only his hands and swings down to the window in near silence. He swings through the window feet first and his sword is out as he lands a few yards from the wall. Nothing in the room but furniture and a small empty loup cage meant to contain the vampires.

He is through the room and into the hallway just as a pale shadow dashes into view. He cuts on instinct with his gladius, cutting up with the point downward, opening up the vampire's emaciated stomach. He thrusts forward and his blade cuts into and through the heavy ridge of bone covering its heart. His blade pierces the fleshy sack, and the vampire's eyes blink from ruby red to a dull red.

The weight of the vamp hits him, and he pivots, throwing the truly dead body into the wall behind him. His back and shoulder burns, the undead creature able to inflict a few hits before he had dealt the final blow. He continues down the hall, his sword held low to his right side and enters into the main living room of the apartment. A pale figure is on the far wall, heading towards the kitchen window, another vampire.

He throws his sword on instinct as he mumbles the command word, and the sword blurs across the room in a brief flare of red fire. The sword buries itself into the undead and pins it to the wall by its hips, and it screams in silent agony as the fire covered blade holds it in place. Before he can react fully, an icy shock hits his right leg, and he pivots on his left leg while drawing a dagger and kurki from his belt.

He catches the backswing of an arm length sabre swung at him by a man of middle eastern descent, deflecting the attack and the immediate counter attack. Richard can't feel his leg and the attacks continue as he gives ground to assess his opponent. The man is six foot and has a good deal of reach on him between both his longer arms and longer blade. The man has gray mixed in his shoulder length hair and short beard, is wearing a gray collared shirt and brown leather pants in combat boots.

The blade catches his attention, as it has a blue glow along its edge and the metal has a purple hue to it. After a few long breaths of blocking, the man backs up and assesses Richard in turn. They stare at each other, and the pain from the cut in his leg sinks in, hot blood running down to his boot.

"Surrender, and I'll make sure you get processed through the Guild, instead of handing you directly to the People," Richard says, his eyes never completely focusing on the man as they slowly circle each other.

The man pauses, tilting his head to the side before speaking with an accent, "You are an animal. Why should I trust you?"

"I am Richard Michaels, Executioner of Clan Heavy, and my word is iron clad," he says with a slight flash of gold in his eyes.

The man's head twists slightly again, "Tiger?"

"The offer will expire shortly," Richard says, moving to the side and getting ready for his attack.

The man shakes his head, "I cannot be taken alive. I cannot permit it."

"So be it," Richard replies, as both he and the man leap into motion.

Richard twists and lunges low, not extending his legs fully and dragging his toes. The man cuts across and up, and Richard adjusts his own lunge mid-movement, reversing his turn and lashing out with his blades. The kurki cuts up and deflects the sword, not much, only a fraction of an inch, but enough for the crippling blow to turn into a deep gash, and allowing his dagger to cut up into the man's groin. The six inch blade cuts up into the crease of the hips and the man grunts in pain as his left leg gives out entirely.

Richard's kurki crashes into the far wall as his right arm goes numb below where the man's sword had cut him above the tricept, and he levers the dagger while they pass each other. The blade grates and bones splinter and break, and he releases the blade while completing his turn and adjusting his stance to attack again, pulling another blade from his thigh holster. The man has crashed into a flimsy shelf on the wall, his sword lying next to him and a large pool of blood gathering beneath him.

The entire exchange from the moment they sprung until Richard is prepared to pounce again took a second at most, and the fight is over. The man pushes himself to his back, his left leg hanging useless from his hip, and the smell of blood and the man's magic hits Richard's senses like a hammer. The man is powerful, a magic user and not just a navigator, he matches the picture in the file, and the scent in the packet, but the blood is old, strong and full of magic. Before he can figure out more, the man collapses, gasps his last breath, and stills.

Richard's heart is hammering in his own chest, and he takes a few long breaths to collect himself. He checks his leg, and nods to himself that although the cut has some sort of magical burn along it, it has stopped bleeding and is healing, his Lyc-V patching the wound quickly. Richard eases towards the man, and pauses part way there, then spins and throws the dagger in his hand at the pinned vampire. The blade buries itself through its skull, and the ruby red eyes that had been watching him fade. He rises to stand and starts to collect the body, his gear and any other evidence at the site, knowing he'll have to be meticulous in his paperwork, as the People's lawyers are a pain on it.

Richard rides past the empty Viking ship alongside the road leading into his property. He can't really say house, because there's more than just his house, it's a small complex complete with roman style battlements around it. He is riding his mare, bare chested as he'd removed his bloody shirt and used it wipe down his injured leg and arm, which have long black lines from the cuts, though they don't seem to hurt, just scar tissue. He rides through the open gate of the fort, getting a wave from the guard he has posted there.

"Morning, boss," Will, a stocky Caucasian says with a nod as he pushes the gates closed. "Ms. Nash is inside, came in a couple hours ago, asked after you."

"Caught a late contract from the Guild," he says with a shrug.

"Pay well?" he asks, walking behind him and the horse to the rail in front of the sprawling log cabin.

"Eighteen large," Richard says, dismounting in front of the house.

"What the hell did you do?" Tasha yells at him as she walks out of the front door of the house, her tawny blond hair in disarray on her head. She wears a pair of baggy gray sweat pants and a baggy sweatshirt in the fall morning, her hands unseen under the long sleeves, and bare feet only peeking underneath.

"You smell like undead, weird magic, you're late, and what the hell is that-that… _smell_?" she growls at him with her hands on her hips and glowering at him as he walks up the steps.

"I missed you, too," he says with a tight smile. "What's for breakfast? It smells like those Iggy in a Basket things on cornbread you make. The ones heavy with real butter."

Tasha simply growls as he walks past her, then stalks after him as he enters the house and hangs his weapons belt on the peg on the wall for it. He pulls the axe from its sheath and keeps it with him, as he always does, to set it by the back door. He hooks the axe head on the peg on the back counter by the door, turning and pausing to look at the thick slices of toast with an egg over it.

"Rick, I'm not in the mood to play around," she growls, rubbing her hair, her eyes squeezed shut. "Nita's pushing some crap in the Pride and I'm juggling support and drama there and in the Clan to be able to pull off the coup, so just speak straight."

"I didn't get a please, but I'll give," he says with a smile, earning him a glare. "The People hired me to take out a rogue navigator and two vampires. I smoked the vamps and killed the navigator, made their timeline and cashed in a righteous contract at the Guild. Managed to snag the guy's blade, too."

He leans the saber against the wall after hefting it to show it to her. She looks at the blade suspiciously as she studies the glowing edge and violet smoke in the steel.

"That's strong magic, old too," she says thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm going to rinse off outside," he says, walking out the back.

He strides along the stone walkway to the gravity shower next to the barn with a small shed next to it. After rinsing off in the cold water, he grabs a rough towel in the shed along with a pair of sweatpants and returns into the house. The magic wave had receded while he showered, and dulled his senses as it went. He checks his healed cuts and frowns as he walks through the back door.

"That from the blade?" Tasha asks with a frown as she places a dozen of the slices of bread with eggs on the center platter of the kitchen table, pointing at his arm.

"There and my thigh," he replies, tapping his leg. "It's scar tissue, like when I was human. It doesn't hurt, not even rough, more like the pigment decided to be dark instead of pale."

"Strange," she says with a moue, sitting across from him and sipping her strawberry milk. "When the magic comes back, I'll run the blade through the m-scanner, then see what I can get about it, if you like."

"I appreciate it, darlin'," Richard says with a smile. "If I get a chance, I'll get one on myself, too, just in case."

"That's different, you checking on yourself," she says with a frown.

"The guy was a good fighter, in person, not through the vamps," he says with a frown as he cuts up his Iggy. "Like fighting was his main shtick, not piloting vampires. And his blood was heavy with magic."

"Who was he?" she asks.

"File says a transfer from an overseas position to the local Casino," he says with a shake of his head. "I pulled prints from him and the sword, and managed to get a relatively untainted sample of blood. I'm going to swing by the Mansion and the Pack Lord to try and get more info, if the Security section isn't too busy."

"We have the hearings tonight," she reminds him, with a wave of her fork at him.

"I know," he says with a sigh. "I have an odd feeling though, can you do the sword today?"

"Probably, depends on how long the tech lasts," she says with a pause, narrowing her eyes at him. "Unless…"

"I'll pay eight hundred, more if you can get more detail," he says with a nod. "I'm good for it and fair."

She growls, "Yun will do it, but to get more… you know I hate going to the Order."

"They'll have more info, and they hate the People as much or more than we do," he says with a serious look at her.

"Fine, I'll do it," she says with a theatrical sigh. "If they'll let me in past the receptionist."

"Ask for Rushman, she'll see you if only to find out where she sits," he says with a frown in return. "I know you sent the note and a gift, its past time for a face to face anyway."

"I hate you sometimes, you know that right?" she says with a scowl at him as she chews on some egg.

"I love you too, babe," he says with a wink at her.

Richard wakes up in the early afternoon, alone in his bed, though Tasha had shared it with him when he had dozed off. He pulls on his workout gear and heads to the gym, where he can hear his strong armed employees working out. He enters the open bayed building to find Adam, a stocky and medium height black man and leader of his "strongarms" and Hermano, his Hispanic partner, the third of their trio that is rounded out by Will from the night before.

"Morning, boss," Will nods, spotting a huge set of weights for Adam at the weight bench.

"Afternoon, actually," Richard says with a smirk. "Did you guys do your practice katas, yet?"

"Knife sets when we got here," Adam says as he sits up after having racked the bar after hearing Richard enter. "We'll do gladius and axe after the lifting sets."

"I'm going to do some weighted sprints, I'll do the sword and axe with you when I get back," Richard says with a nod.

"Roger, boss," Adam says with a nod, then goes onto his back again to do another set.

Richard picks up the canvas and steel ring vest hanging on a low vest by the wall, then dons it quickly, very familiar with it. He slings some chains along it for weight, adding over a hundred pounds to himself in the process. He trots out of the building and starts to run around the inside of the fortifications, alternating between running and sprinting. After a two laps around the inner perimeter he jumps over the palisade and lands outside the back gate in a crouch, then running easily to the obstacle course erected another five hundred meters away.

He jumps over log rails hip high and chest high, changing between hurtling them and squaring off to do a standing jump. The heights, even with the vest, is easy, and after going down and back, he picks up the large rock at the starting line, hoisting it to his shoulder and goes down and back again. He continues on this set of obstacles, as well as a series of foot in diameter logs dug into the ground, hopping from one top to another down the length of the hundred yard lanes. An hour after starting, he returns to his gym, pulling the chains off and unclasping the vest to let air in.

He arrives at the practice area near the inner side of the palisade walls and watches as Adam and Hermano finish their stretching exercises. He picks up a wooden gladius with a lead weight in it, and tests the heft, then stands in front of the training post. The post is two feet wide and two deep and set into the ground with wooden posts to keep it solid, and it is seven feet tall. He starts the count, and the others join him as they go through the practiced series of chops, slashes and thrusts into the training post. They start simple, but work their way up to more complicated movements until only Richard is left doing lightning fast combos while the others have already switched hands to work.

They continue to practice, though Richard continues longer, knowing more katas, and at an advanced place compared to the others. As they practice, other shapeshifters head over from either the barracks or from where they are filtering into the compound. Noel had made training mandatory for all members of Clan Heavy, and Richard had been the one to implement the training plans and schedule. It had been a rough first month or so, but now everyone is used to the schedules and things are going pretty well.

He finishes his last kata and relaxes, having changed from attacking the post to doing free forms with a bokken, a wooden katana for his two handed forms. He turns to the small crowd of folks who had been watching him, all trying to learn and mimic his level of proficiency or mastery. They nod and avert their gazes deferentially, all wearing sweats and a t-shirt of some kind and barefoot, the mandatory outfit for training at Richard's. One does not avert his eyes though, and Richard approaches him, though he bows a few paces away and looks away.

"Most impressive, Richard," Joseph Runner says, the Beta for Clan Heavy.

"Thank you, beta," he replies, straightening and holding the bokken easily to the side.

Joseph is of Native American descent, a were-buffalo, and senior to Richard in the Clan and Pack. He stands just under six foot, is wide of shoulder and solid, giving a sense of unmoving patience and power, like the mountains itself. His dark hair is often braided in either one or two tails to a hand's length past his shoulders, and in tasteful clothing, rarely cheap.

"I hear you had a contract from the People this morning," he says as they leave the others behind and head to the house, where Richard can smell the grill cooking for the guests and the meeting that will be held soon.

"Yes, sir," he says with a nod. "Navigator and two vampires, through the Mercenary Guild. Tight timeline, and bonus for completion before dawn. The paperwork was solid, and they didn't squabble over completion or pay. I transferred ten percent to the Pack account, as usual."

"Yes, I saw," Joseph says in his stony and normal manner, though with a hint of disapproval. "But we prefer not to do business with the People. It is not right, as they are our enemies."

"They will be, sir, I don't disagree," Richard says with a nod of agreement. "But right now they're money, and experience. I know there's another angle, and I'll keep the Clan and Pack informed as I figure out more."

"I am certain you will, Richard," Joseph agrees with a nod. "Are your people ready for guard?"

"Yes, sir," Richard replies with a nod as he glances at where Adam stands by the barn, where the weekly adjudications for the Clan are held at a small platform. "Adam has shaped up well with bodyguard duty, he doesn't do too well on the long planning, but basic guarding he's got solid. And Hermano and Will have the training process down pretty good, I've been shifting more of the managing of it to them the last couple weeks."

"Good," Joseph says, waiting at the edge of the porch, away from others as they talk. "Noel has some other negotiations that he wishes to speak with you about, and your time will be focused on that. Give them the responsibility for training and the guard, under your supervision. We have other tasks for you."

"Yes, beta," Richard says, having only waited for permission before transferring the full authority of those programs to his three strongmen, as they've turned out better than he'd thought they would.

"Go get ready, we start in an hour," Joseph says in dismissal, walking to where five members of the clan are under his wife, setting up a buffet style dinner along two picnic tables.

Richard enters his house and catches the fresh scent of Tasha, she's been here since he left to work out and practice. There is a manila envelope on the table, a slip of paper on top of it. He smiles at the note, saying that Yun wants the contract for his next five custom weapons in return for the info, and that she had to eat three servings of crow at the Order. He opens the envelope and pulls out the sheets of copied files, reading about his mystery navigator.

Murcero Sladahi, a former resident of Damascus, and his file is mostly black lines over the print. That means that even at the Order, they couldn't get the full info or file on him. He was fifty three years old, a master swordsman, which Richard nods his agreement with, and never trained with the People, according to his file. He worked in the middle-east mostly until a couple years ago, when he went into the Caucasus mountains and disappeared. The man was classically educated and worked with the Saudi Defense forces and other various militaries as an expert on ancient mythos of the area.

The saber is an Indian blade, steel, forged for a Rajput king in the fourth century. The Order was able to m-scan it, and it's included, and has a human and shapeshifter streak of magic across it, though there's a very faint hint of another color along the edge that he does not understand. The assessment with the scan says that a magic using shapeshifter made it, and that it would be more damaging to a shapeshifter. He recalls the feel of the cuts, and agrees, and wonders if his stripes are reactions to the magic or an effect of the blade itself.

Lastly, in a small folded piece of paper, is his name handwritten, and he thinks he recognizes it as Natalie Rushman's, his ex-girlfriend and Knight of the Order. He frowns, debating on not opening it, but does and reads the contents. Nothing personal, just the facts, confirming that this is all they have without the Knight Protector of Houston getting involved. He stares at the last words written after the PS. _Don't forget to give plenty of ferrous to your canines_.

He stares at that last statement for a long moment, then crumples up the hand written note and holds it over the candle burning on the table. He drops the burning note in the sink and stares out the window as he continues to ponder the meaning of the note. Rushman was good at her job, an up and comer and not prone to paranoia or overreacting. The last sentence was code, and few people outside the Order or the higher levels of government would recognize it as such. She never spoke to him about it, but he knows some of her classified briefs, because he got some of the same ones when he was in the Army Rangers.

The Iron Dogs, the elite guard and soldiers of Roland, the man who founded the People and suspected to be an ancient emperor risen from hibernation when the magic returned to the world. The Order of the Iron Dogs were hard core fuckers of the highest order, a mixed group of humans and shapeshifters, that were loyal unto death to Roland and his mission, which was the complete domination of the world. He takes a breath and calms himself, focusing his thoughts as he digests the information. To challenge or fight Roland was akin to fighting a god from any of the old pantheons, suicidal for a mere mortal, no matter how powerful.

He turns from the sink and his eyes catch on Spike, resting on the hook by the back door. He reaches over and picks it up, his brow furrowing as he contemplates the adventures that had gained him this weapon, and the gladius, and the ship in his front drive. He feels his beast in his chest, growling at his train of thoughts, his subconscious' way of coping with becoming a shapeshifter, and his own instincts given voice.

The tiger within him bristles, and he growls on instinct as he stares at the axe, and the hairs on his arm stand on end as he feels a stirring within himself. He had tried to use magic, before he had shifted, and it had never worked, he had none as a human. As a shapeshifter, he has it, and has only started to learn the most rudimentary of healing spells, but so far has not even reached proficiency with any of it. But this feeling in his chest, his arms, it feels like when he uses magic, but… different. He pushes the feeling, his magic to his arms, and into the axe, and growls the command word.

"_Jotun_," he says in a harsh whisper, and the axe head flickers with light, the enchantment activating, despite the lack of magic in the world, the technology wave gripping the planet.

"That's impossible," Tasha whispers from behind him.

He turns to see that she has silently crept from the bedroom and is staring at the glowing axe in his hand. She's in jeans, t-shirt and a supple tan leather vest, barefoot and her hair pulled back into a ponytail as she stares at him in his sweatpants and tank top. He can feel the connection of magic from the axe to his person, and that the power needed is not much, he has much more to give. He sets the axe back on its peg, and it stays glowing, and he internally stops the flow of magic, unable to describe how, and the axe returns to normal.

"How did you do that?" she asks, her eyes wide in surprise.

"I don't know," he says, walking to her slowly. "Tasha, I need you to promise me not to tell anyone. Do you understand?"

She's staring at him, her face puzzled as he reaches for her slowly, "That's impossible, Richard. Impossible."

"Promise me, tell no one," he says again, carefully putting his hands gently on her shoulders, unsure what she'll do.

She stares at him for a long moment, then whispers, "I promise."

"Thank you," he says, then gently wraps her in a hug. "I need to shower, then monitor the adjudications. Are you okay?"

She shakes her head to clear it, "We need to talk about that."

"Later, I promise," he says, nodding to her as he pulls back to look her in the eyes.

"Okay," she says with a breath, then closes her eyes to focus, then looks at him with a more normal expression. "Natalie was able to tell me some of the stuff about what she wrote you."

"Yes," he says simply, knowing the wards in the Order would have allowed her to explain things she wouldn't be able to write or send otherwise. "I know, and understand what she wrote about. Thank you for taking care of it for me. What's the damage?"

"Um," she shakes her head and closes her eyes, thinking, distracted by some of the same things that had bothered him when he had first read the note. "Aside from the favor to Yun, twelve hundred. I had to give a couple markers out to get what you wanted."

"Record time, call it fifteen," he says with a smile, kissing her on the head. "Do you need it now or later?" he asks, knowing she's living paycheck to paycheck to keep ahead of Nita in the Pack political scene.

"Now, if possible," she says with a frown. "I have to do some dealing and greasing tonight."

"Okay," he says, walking to the bedroom and going to the safe in the floor of his closet. He returns with a stack of bills a minute later, "Not sure how you needed it, but that's eight in hundreds, six in fifties, and the rest in twenties."

"A man with a stack of cash," she says with a smile as she sets down the axe she had been holding, taking the cash and kissing him on the cheek. "Don't take too long, Noel is going to want to talk to you before they start."

Richard watches her walk outside, enjoying the sight of her swaying backside, then turns to clean up and get dressed himself.

Richard watches from where he stands at the side of the raised platform Noel sits at with a small desk in front of him. They had made it not long after finishing the construction of his fortifications, and keeping it simple and along the lines of the old west, per Noel's guidance. So his back area within the fortifications is similar to a town square, and could also serve as a parade field. Noel uses the platform while doing judgments for the Clan, and last month's Pack gathering had been done on the outside parade field that was similar but larger.

They are on the last case, a domestic squabble that has escalated to the police being involved twice, and Noel is bringing the hammer from the Clan, as they can't sort it on their own it seems. He is reading off the summation from his notes, looking down his nose at the binder on his desk, when a murmuring in the crowd starts and spreads. Will jogs up to the platform and leans into Richard's ear to speak privately in a bare whisper.

"Someone at the front gate, yelling your name, boss," he says and Richard nods, then looks to Noel, giving a quick hand signal.

Noel nods and Richard is replaced by Will, as he turns and walks purposely towards the main entrance. The gathering of a hundred or so shapeshifters around the platform part for him, and a small crowd follows him as he goes to the stairs and up onto the rail. He pauses on the steps however and starts pointing at people and then places on the wall. Before he finishes ascending, instead of a bunch of gawkers on the wall, he has actual sentries and people guarding.

He climbs the last few steps on light steps and pauses before coming into view of the outside, listening. Someone is outside, shouting, a male voice, young, strong and not hoarse. He rises slowly into view, wearing his heavy black leather vest, gladius and axe on his hips, and other blades on his person. The magic is up, and his senses are more sensitive, and he can make out the man standing fifty yards from the gates, dark plate armor on, a long spear in hand, and a curved blade on his hip. A heavy helmet sits on his head, but molded to give him flexibility and visibility while protecting him.

"What do you want?" Richard roars over the distance after the man calls his name again.

The man pauses, finally getting a response, but then simply repeats himself, "RICHARD MICHAELS!"

Richard sighs, wondering if this is just another wandering bravo trying to make his name or someone serious. He's had four wandering mercenaries looking for a quick way to make their name, one who was a shapeshifter, none of which survived the experience. He walks to the back of the gates, pulls a circular shield from the small shed with gear in it for defense, then a short bow and a quiver of arrows. He nods to Adam, who has two others from the Clan remove the bar, then open the gate. They close and bar it behind him once he is outside.

"I am here," Richard says, spreading his arms out, hands empty, bow slung. "What do you want?"

"About damn time," the man says in a growl. "I've been yelling for nearly twenty minutes."

"Just a touch over ten," Richard calls to him, frowning. "Don't be dramatic. Who are you and what do you want?"

"You were hired by the People to kill a man this morning?" the man asks, and Richard can see the man's gray eyes now that he's twenty yards away.

"I picked up a Mercenary Guild contract to bring in a rogue Journeyman Navigator who stole two vampires," Richard replies. "Common knowledge to Guild members," he adds, having stopped at fifteen yards.

"That man was my mentor, my teacher, and like a father to me, Mercenary," the man says with venom in his voice, spitting the last word like it were dirty. "He did not deserve to die at the hands of an animal such as you."

Richard shifts his bow to rest on the ground, his hand on the top, held carefully with his fingers, "I am tolerant, but my patience is not without limits. Do not provoke me, you will not survive the experience."

"Give me his sword, abomination, or I will burn your house down with your pets locked inside," the man spits with vitriol in return, gesturing to the ramparts with his spear. "Regardless, you die tonight."

Richard picks up the bow, sets an arrow on the string and fires, the arrow flashing out at the man. He shifts his stance, and the arrow misses, sticking into the dirt where the man's ankle had been a moment before. Richard moves to his right, firing again and again, aiming for exposed portions of the man, hands, arms, feet and head. Every shot is either blocked, deflected by his shield, or he deftly shifts the appendage out of the way, the arrows missing by hairsbreadths.

When he is out of arrows, the distance between the two has closed to only a few yards, as the man has advanced while Richard fired, and thrusts out with his spear. Richard deflects it with the bow, again and again, and the fourth such attack breaks the bow, though he doesn't discard it. Instead he flicks his wrists while turning from a bash of the man's shield and tangles the bowstring in the spear, then pulling it to the side when it is extended.

The man is off balance, and Richard plants a solid front kick directly into the man's shield, which cracks loudly from the impact, sending splinters to the ground. Richard has his own shield out now, and follows through while drawing his axe. The man has recovered and they slam shields, shifting and twisting, the man trying to get his spear into play. Richard swings the axe's spike at the man, then backswings the blade back and onto the shaft of the spear, and pulls the long weapon onto the edge of their shields. He muscles it, the spear spins off into the darkness, and Richard picks up his left foot on instinct as he flicks the spear to his right. A blade glimmers in the nightlight, the man having thrown a dagger at Richard's briefly exposed foot. Richard shoves the man and shuffles to the side to evaluate him again, and the man does the same, the change in the fighting field causing the man to reassess.

"You are good, but you could never have defeated Murcero Sladahi," the man says, spitting scorn at Richard. "It is a dishonor to have such a great man to fall to one as unworthy as you."

"If so, it is a dishonor you will share," Richard says, placing the man's accent and the patterns on the armor. "Dovalich."

The man roars and attacks, his own curved sword out and glowing a pale red in the night. Richard deflects the sword with his shield, which sparks with white light at the impact. The shield is in tatters from that one strike, and he tosses the remains away while dodging to the side. He rolls to his feet and leans away from the man's next attack, then bringing the axe down in a full forced strike that destroys the man's shield in turn.

The man tosses the remnants of the shield aside while thrusting at Richard, who dances away from the attack. The man raises the sword over his head in a two handed grip, and Richard is impressed at the man's fluid movements despite the bulk of his armor. He pulls Blaze from his hip as he holds Spike to his right, watching the man with the intensity of his own inner tiger. The man returns the scrutiny, shifting his stance slowly to the side, and Richard mimics the slow balanced movement, the man's stance and attack reminiscent of the Sladahi's style from before.

"I have no wish to kill you, but you chose this road," Richard says in a low voice for only the other man's ears, those on the ramparts watching in rapt attention.

"You are but a minor inconvenience to my Master," the man says with unrestrained contempt and rage directed at Richard.

"_Meifl_, _Joten_," Richard says, and his weapons burst with fire and ice respectively.

The man attacks and Richard parries left with the axe while chopping the sword up underneath and into the man's abdomen. The metal armor clangs loudly at the contact of the gladius' top edge, but he backswings with the blade of Spike, and contacts the same area. The armor was hot from the sword, and now is plunged with cold from the axe and shatters from the combination and the blow impact added. The man counters and attacks, and Richard deflects again with the axe, using the chin of the axe to push the saber through the swing instead of reversing like the man attempts.

The man isn't strong enough to make the counter, and Blaze rings a hard blow against the man's right side. The leather ties of the armor are weakening from the nearly red hot metal, and the man shies to the side from the pain in his side. Richard follows through, pressing the attack now, attacking at the man's side with Spike. The man blocks with the sword, and again Richard uses the axe's chin to trap the blade and then crosses it with Blaze, tangling the hot and cold weapons around the man's enchanted saber.

The man struggles with his two handed grip on the sword, and Richard holds it steady, his shapeshifter strength far greater than any human's, even if the man has better leverage. The man lunges his head forward to bash against Richard's, and he ducks to the side, slamming his shoulder into the man's collar with a heavy metallic thud. The man's right hand flashes, and Richard releases his left from Blaze but is only able to grab the man's right shoulder while pulling and twisting with his right, wrenching the man's blade from his hand and tossing both the sword and Spike away.

Richard pulls his right hand back in a flash, catching the man's blade in his hand as the first half inch pierces his leather vest and pricks his skin. Richard growls and pulls the dagger away as the man shuffles and shifts, another blade appearing in his hand and attacking. Richard does the same, and the two men are quickly attacking each other with daggers in their hands. The attacks are fast, hard to follow and mostly instinct, as the steel armor rings and Richard's leather armor starts to reveal his shirt and red lines of shallow cuts on his skin.

A dagger goes flying into the night, and a few breaths later another spins away. Two more disappear into the night, and then a resounding metal tear pierces the night. Richard spins away from the man and bounces on his toes as the man falls to one knee and pinwheels his hands to keep his balance. His steel breastplate has a huge rent across it, ragged and torn, and Richard is idly tracing circles with his kurki in his right hand.

"Last chance," Richard says, gold flashing in his eyes. "I would rather not waste a talented fighter as you."

"Beast," the man snarls, then speaks a word with a deep booming voice, and power reverberates from the man, magic, a power word, _kneel_.

The power ripples through him, his body and soul, and he can feel the man's power fighting his own. The man's blood is strong, stronger than his mentor's was, and the compulsion to kneel to this man is overwhelming, and his knees buckle, but he shifts his feet, staying upright. The man is glaring at him, pushing himself to his feet a half dozen yards away, his face shivering with strain and a trail of blood from his nose. The man's voice booms again, and Richard growls, then roars into the night, his human body throwing out a full throated roar worthy of his tiger form.

Richard throws the kurki in a practiced motion, and the heavy blade cleaves into the man's forehead, striking with such force to push the tip of the blade out of the back of the helmet. Richard takes a deep breath and stumbles to the side, then pausing and looking around while blinking hard, clearing his vision. When the black spots have receded, he walks towards the front gate, where the doors are opening and Noel strides out with Tasha, Adam and Alex behind him.

"Adam, I want scouts out now, a full squad of our best trackers checking a half klick out in a recon pattern," Richard barks to the were-leopard. "All reports go directly to me or Alex, no middle men and no gossip. Tracking?"

"Yes, sir," Adam says with a crisp nod, then turning and starting to give curt orders to other members of the clan.

"That was… different," Noel says as he stops arm's length from Richard and speaking low. "Once this is organized, come see me in the gym."

"Yes, Alpha," Richard says with a nod.

"Joseph," Noel says, turning to the slightly taller were-buffalo. "Heal Richard, so he can be about his business."

It takes twenty minutes, but Richard is back at his house and walking into the exterior entrance. His chest is bare, and his cut up jeans still on his legs, though he spent some time under the shower by the barn to wash off the worst of the blood and dirt. His weapons belt is slung over his shoulder with his sword and axe on it, kurki and dagger, his other weapons elsewhere.

"Sir," Richard says with a respectful nod to Noel, where he sits on a weight bench, looking at a notepad in his thick, callused hands.

"Sit," Noel says, waving at the bench sitting across from him. "Tell me what you found."

"First scouts came back from close recon, there were two other shapeshifters out there, one was definitely a wolf, and from the Pack," Richard says. "The other is something else, not sure what. I have a couple of more experienced folks going to that trail to get a whiff of the scent, see if they can place it."

Noel nods thoughtfully while reading his notebook, then closes it and tucks it away, sitting up straight and looking at Richard evenly.

"I've never seen anyone resist a power word before," he says flatly.

"I only know of them, haven't ever seen one used until now," Richard says with a shrug.

Noel looks at Richard evenly for a long moment, and he just returns the look for a moment, then looks away. His inner beast growls at him, but he ignores it, following the protocol rather than his instincts.

"Do you think you could beat me?" Noel asks, his voice a menacing growl.

Richard shifts his mentality instantly, and he forces his body to remain in the same relaxed posture, though he has eased his vision to not focus on any one thing. Noel has never pushed him hard or demanded a direct act of subjugation, and this question is surprising. He had thought that they were both playing the long game, but something has changed, and he's not sure what or why.

"I asked you a question, Michaels," Noel says in the same landslide of a voice.

"I have no desire to kill you, or harm you," Richard says after a moment. "You are a good leader for the Clan."

"You did not answer my question," Noel says, growling again, and a blue flash rolling over his eyes.

"Yes, I could, if I tried," Richard says as he raises his eyes to meet those of the were-bear. "But I don't want to be the Clan Alpha, or the Pack Lord."

"You are too powerful and smart to not be an Alpha," Noel says with a shake of his head.

"I don't know the system well enough, yet," Richard says honestly. "And though I am good at leading, I have no ambition. It is not what drives me, you know this."

"The Cat Family within the Clan has organized well, under the leadership of the Lion Pride," Noel says in response. "Their Beta, Tasha, is likely to take over soon. When she does, I think it may be prudent to have a Clan Cat once again within the Pack."

Richard watches him for a long moment as he processes the statement. If the Cat Clan re-emerged with the Pride and Tasha at its head, and he within it, he would not be the leader, though he would be deeply involved in it. Though that would free him up to do other things within the Pack, and some jobs in the Pack hierarchy were not jobs for Alphas, but of capable and dominant members instead.

"Pack Executioner?" Richard asks, an eyebrow quirked in question.

"No one holds the position, currently, as we've not had a need for one," Noel says with no inflection, squared off on Richard and meeting his gaze evenly. "I think that is changing, and we should change with it. Other Packs fill the position with a Clan Alpha, or other senior person."

"Wear two hats? Sounds like that would take away from his capabilities," Richard reasons, still meeting Noel's eyes, and not sure why he's holding it.

"It would, and I think we should go a different way," Noel says with a slow nod. "I am not a fool, as I've said before, and I want the Pack to succeed. At the next Pack gathering at the full moon, the Pride of Clan Heavy will petition to reform and lead Clan Cat. Will you go with it, or remain in Heavy?"

Richard thinks it over, realizing that the decision point has come, and he nods towards the house, "I will go with them, if they will have me."

"They would be fools, not to," Noel says with a shake of his head.

"So, are we good?" Richard asks, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"We're good," Noel says with a nod, the tension easing from him and changing the subject. "The wolf was one from the Domascas, no doubt. But the other, I wonder."

"It has to do with the man on the doorstep," he replies in a low tone, leaning forward on his knees. "It is not a simple answer, and I am sure we need to be someplace absolutely secure. The Pack needs to know about it."

Noel purses his lips, then nods in understanding, "Tomorrow, after you finish work, come to the Mansion. The wards there are strong, and I believe I can gather the Council of Alphas and the Pack Lord to hear you."

"Very well, until then," Richard says with a nod, and they both rise, then clasp hands in a comradely fashion.

Richard watches the Alpha lumber out of the room and rubs his head in thought. He had pushed for Tasha to be the Alpha of her Pride, in part because the Pride needed someone better than Nita, but mostly because Tasha is capable of doing it and didn't have the drive to do it. The contract on the Jotun bones and their relationship has put her into a position to step up, but he didn't expect this.

He rises from the bench and walks into his house, passing through the small hall connecting it to his gym. He pauses and grabs some cold meat from the fridge as he drops his weapons belt on the kitchen table, then goes to his bedroom after eating a thick hamsteak, so hungry and tired that he doesn't care that it's cold. He strips and showers in hot water, letting the steam and heat run through him as his mind continues to chew and work on the problems and issues of the last couple days. He exits his bathroom to his bedroom with a towel around his waist to find Tasha in his bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders and looking at him with a smirk.

Richard looks at her for a long moment before speaking, "Clan Cat?"

Her smirk quirks into a crooked frown, "Noel told you."

"After the fight," he says with a nod, moving to the edge of the bed, then sitting down and sighing, facing away from her.

"I was going to tell you, you've just been busy lately," she says, easing up to him and gently massaging his shoulders, barely keeping the sheet over her essentials. "With the navigator and the… dogs, I thought I'd wait to drop this on you, too."

"I'm not opposed to it," he says with a shake of his head, rubbing his scalp.

"I know, but you think too much," she says, leaning forward to kiss the side of his head. "You don't need the unneeded distractions. I can handle this, you take care of work and the other stuff."

Richard snorts, "Other stuff is a lot more complicated, and has effects on what you're doing, darlin'. I need to know, or I'll not set us up for success. The businesses are one thing, but now I…"

He trails off, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, "I've worked hard to get Heavy's security to where it is, and taking all the cats to another Clan… We're forcing the other Clans into a corner."

"What do you mean?" she says, her brow furrowing. "We take our cats with us, and work with Heavy, secure the Pack."

"And isolate Jackal and Wolf in the process," he says, rubbing his head. "We set up Heavy and Cat to be the power behind the throne, and the others are just participants. The other Alphas will band together just to fuck with our chi so they can get a bigger piece of the pie."

"Oh," Tasha says dumbly, processing this and her hands stilling on his shoulders.

"If we force it without negotiating the right way with the other Clans, then we can't get our cats from the others, and our Clan will be weaker, and we'll be more likely to fail," he says with a shake of his head, looking at the wall now. "So we have to bump up the timeline and get the Pack Lord to pull in the other Clans to solidify the Pack, and push away from the divisions. I don't know if we're ready yet, but now we have no choice."

They sit in silence for a moment, and she rests her head on his shoulder, "I didn't realize. Noel has helped me with the politics for the Pride, and your public victories have gotten you a lot of favor, especially considering your business success."

"I know you've been using that, but didn't realize how well," he says with a sigh. "Can you handle running the Clan if I'm the Pack Executioner and a member of the Clan?"

"In honesty, it's more complicated than I thought, but I can do it, with the Pride backing me up and your security trained guys," she says with a sigh of her own. "I'm not sure about the money, but…"

"I've got the money," he interrupts with a wave and rubs his head again, lost in thought. "The Clan, the Pack is my family, and I approach them the same way I would brothers, sisters and relatives coming to me for help. I will help if I can."

Tasha reaches around and turns his face to her, kissing him tenderly on the lips, gently nuzzling his nose with hers.

"You say the right things to make a woman love you more and more, Richard Michaels, and you don't even realize it," she says in a purr, biting her lip gently, then kissing him and pulling him into the bed.

Richard rises in the late morning light at a knock at his front door. Tasha shifts on the bed and reaches for her own clothes as he walks to the door with a pair of sweatpants on. Will is standing there waiting when he opens it.

"Knights from the Order are at the front gate, they want to talk to you, they say it's important," he says up front.

"Who?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

"Knight Investigator Daniels and his partner, Natalie Rushman," he says with a tight expression, the gossip about Richard and his ex-girlfriend having made the rounds.

"Let them in, tell them to knock," Richard says with a nod, then goes back inside and gets dressed.

"Daniels and Rushman?" Tasha asks from the kitchen as he changes. "Are you going to let them in?"

"Thinking about it," he says in a solid tone that she can hear. "But I know you can be touchy about the house thing."

"I will never be ready for that man to be welcome in a place where I live," she says, and he can hear the growl in her voice from the other room.

"And her?" he asks, pausing in pulling on a boot.

"I think we've mended fences," she says, and he starts tying his boot thoughtfully as she continues. "And she has dirt on you, so that can be useful."

"Why am I suddenly feeling a bit regretful in pushing you to be friendly with her?" he asks with a sigh as he exits the bedroom and goes to the kitchen.

"Have you done something to feel guilty about?" she asks with an arched eyebrow at him, pouring hot tea into a cup for them both.

"It was a rhetorical question," he says with a smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"So was mine," she says with a smirk. "Play a power game, leave him outside, I have an understanding with her. We can talk in here for a bit, go from there."

"Okay," he says with a tilt of his head, kissing her on the lips and accepting the cup of tea as a knocking comes from the door.

He blows on the tea, then picks up his weapons belt on the kitchen table, buckling it on before picking his mug up again and walking to the front door. He unhurriedly unlocks and opens the door, but leaves the screen door closed. Knight Investigator Daniels is standing a couple steps away, wearing his dark gray leather jacket and a pair of slacks, an automatic pistol on his hip since the tech is up. Knight Natalie Rushman stands just behind him, a .45 pistol on her hip and her dark leather on. Richard blows the steam off his hot mug for a moment as Daniels scowls at him through the screen.

"Knight Investigator Daniels, I see you know where I live," Richard says with a smile, then nods at Rushman. "Nat, good to see you again."

"Mr. Michaels, I need to speak with you," Daniels says with a scowl, glancing back at the gates, and at Will who is standing just off the porch behind them, his hands clasped in front of him in plain sight, though he wears a revolver on his thigh.

"That's nice," Richard says, arching an eyebrow and easing the door open. "Nat, you can come inside, Tasha's waiting in the kitchen, straight down the hall to the back."

Nat looks tensely at Daniels who scowls harder at Richard, then glances at Rushman and nods. She walks past Richard inside, and he closes the screen door, looking at Daniels for a long moment.

"We're going to talk like this?" Daniels asks, his jaw clenching.

"No," Richard says, blowing on his tea and taking a step back, "we're not."

He closes the front door, and turns to follow where Rushman had gone into the kitchen, and he smiles pleasantly at her and Tasha at the table. She is sitting nervously at the table as Tasha sets a cup of coffee in front of her, glancing back at the front door.

"You're really not going to let him in?" she asks.

"Maybe, I'm thinking about it," Richard says, sitting at the table as Tasha leans on the counter. "What's so important to drag him out here to see me?"

"There's a threat on your life, we have intel saying someone linked to the man you killed the other night is going to come after you," she says simply, blowing on the hot coffee.

"Russian, maybe?" Richard asks.

"Yes," she says with a frown. "How did you know that? Murcero Sladahi was Middle Eastern."

"Yes, he was," Richard says with a nod. "I know about the dogs. I need to know what you know about them."

"Not much," she says with a shake of her head. "They are Roland's elite. That's about all I know, except that they're not prejudiced on what type of background you have, just that they are loyal until death."

"You're not much help, then," Richard says with a scowl of his own, setting down his tea.

"Daniels knows more," she adds, looking at him and Tasha pensively, her red hair in a loose ponytail and her bangs over her eyebrows. "He's done background on them before and is our Chapter's expert."

"Shit," Tasha says with a scowl of her own. "He still can't come in the house."

"I didn't think so," Richard says with a sigh, leaving the cup of tea on the table and walking back to the front door and an unpleasant conversation.

Richard walks out the front door, where Daniels is leaning on the rail of his porch. Daniels scowls and starts to say something, but Richard holds up his hand and shakes his head, leading him to the barn. Daniels hesitates with an angry glare, but follows when Richard doesn't look back. At one of the small wooden sheds next to the barn, Richard opens the locked door and walks in, then emerges from the shadowy interior before Daniels can follow.

"A man attacked me last night," he says, handing a saber to Daniels, still in its scabbard, the Russian's blade. "He had that, steel plate armor, shield and spear, as well as magic power that was pretty heavy. He was very, very good, and claimed to be the student of Murcero Sladahi, and claimed to have come to avenge his death."

Daniels has pulled the blade out a hand's length and studied it's faintly glowing edge, and the design of the handle, then looks at Richard solidly, his anger gone, professionalism solidly in place.

"You were a Ranger, but I don't have access to what missions you did," he says curtly. "How much do you know?"

"I did ops on the Georgian coast, the country, not the state," Richard says in answer, to which Daniels quirks an eyebrow and nods.

"That explains why Reynolds wanted you before you turned," Daniels mutters as he looks at the blade. "You know what this means, who is after you now?"

"In part," he agrees with a nod. "But I'm trying to figure out why the roundabout way, or if I'm being maneuvered into it. The initial contract hints at it, and this is just too convenient. Is Rushman cleared for this intel?"

"No," Daniels says with a shake of his head and a sigh. "In a few years when her Master-at-Arms status is solid, but not yet. She hasn't earned the reputation yet, but she's getting there. We need to talk someplace secure."

"I'm busy for the day, and tonight, I can come in tomorrow," he says with a shake of his head.

Daniels takes a deep breath, his jaw flexing as he starts to glower, "Mr. Michaels-"

"I am a CEO of a growing business and in charge of _a lot_ of shit in the Pack, as you well know. I can't drop everything and do whatever you want, and if you could see clearly, you'd realize that," Richard replies with a shake of his head. "But keep the blade, as a gesture of cooperation. We both know we are not enemies, Knight Investigator. Please stop pushing me so hard, or you take my options away."

Daniels looks down at the sword, then back at Michaels, "Body?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Richard says with a shrug and gesture at the blade. "No one will report that stolen, or missing. But I know some dogs that may be sniffing for it."

"Yeah," Daniels says with a slow nod, looking at it again, then back at Richard. "You're a monster, Michaels. An animal and a traitor to your race," he says flatly after a moment, no heat in his voice, a statement.

"In your eyes, perhaps," Richard says with a nod. "But remember, I may be a monster, but I'm on your side. We both want the same things, even if you're a man and I'm a monster. Let's not let the innocent suffer because we don't agree on the details, okay?"

Daniels scowls fiercely, then nods, "I can deal with that."

"Good," Richard says with a nod. "Another thing, though. The man that sword belonged to, he had a power word. It meant kneel or bow, or something like that. I've only ever read about that, never felt it."

"Did he use it on you?" Daniels asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Just saying, it was impressive," Richard says, not answering his question. "I'll come over to the Order tomorrow."

"If something else comes up, let me know," Daniels says as they return to the house.

Richard looks at himself in his office mirror, adjusting the fit of his jacket's shoulders. He is wearing a light wool suit, a dark blue gray in color with thin, subtle lines of red pinstriping up through it. He has on a red collared shirt with a white tie and a white leather vest between the shirt and jacket. The suit is expensive, he's not sure how expensive, exactly, only that Kate had picked out the outfit last month along with two others after having gotten his measurements from Tasha.

The wool is soft and light, breathing better than he thought it would, and the collared shirt of silk is soft on his skin. He hates wearing a tie, but such is the nature of these things. He tests the movement of his arms again, wishing he had places to stash real knives rather than the few small folding knives he's secreted in pockets and his belt. He exits his office and walks downstairs to the large conference room, and arrives as his guard detail consisting of Adam and Hermano escorting in their guests. The two were-leopards are both in custom fitted black suits, white shirts and thin clip on black ties, designed to allow them the ability to have their weapons accessible.

Richard pauses with his hands held easily at his sides, though his instincts scream for him to clasp them somewhere. Alex is walking with their four visitors, and Richard assesses them as they meet. The woman in the lead looks a bit under five and a half feet tall and is in her late thirties, perhaps forties, solid but without looking bulky and a moderate bust, though her gray suit downplays her femininity. Her black hair is pulled back into a French braid that is worked into a bun on her head, and her white shirt has a tie, as a man's would. The cut of the suit is very well done, though, as it is made for a woman's body, not a man's, despite the pants instead of skirt, and the look of the fabric and style screams expensive.

Two of the men with her are obviously bodyguards, though with dark khaki pants and white t-shirts instead of jackets and collars. They wear shoulder rigs with pistols in them and extra magazines, Glocks, and Richard immediately tags them as well funded and moderately trained, not true professionals, but on their way. The third man is a black man and is a bit over six feet tall, solid in his shoulders and his scent indicates he's a were-cat of some sort, jaguar if Richard's guess is right, compared to the were-jackals of the guards and the were-hyena of the woman. The man has a shaved head and moves in a way that suggests that he is on the hunt and ready to pounce, an attitude Richard ignores despite his inner beast growling in protest.

"Ms. Jameson, thank you for coming," Richard says with a gesture to the conference room, in which they all gather and sit at the seats around the large table, small labels for each of those attending.

The guards for both sides remain standing, though Alex and Richard sit on one side of the conference table, while Ms. Jameson and her partner sit opposite. Richard begins with small talk about the weather and the autumn chill coming into town as tea is made and served around by Kate, and when she is finished and standing to the side, he takes a sip of his tea, the rest of the group doing likewise. Jameson's voice is deeper than most women, and her tone is pleasant, she could easily be mistaken for the woman at the bakery or the manager of a restaurant, were it not for her suit and retinue.

"So, I understand you have some properties and businesses to pull management into," Richard says as they settle at the table.

"I will be blunt, Mr. Michaels, as I understand you like that," she replies as she picks up a cracker from the tray in front of her and stacks some meat and cheese on it. "I don't like you, or your business. The Cats have always been a thorn in my side. But you erased the Cat Clan, for all intents and purposes, making my position stronger."

"Clan Jackal did gain a number of members from the disbandment," Richard acknowledges as he gestures slightly at the man seated with her.

"But I see more than that," she says as she swallows the bite she had taken. "I am Clan Jackal's Beta, and I see the writing on the wall. We've seen it for some time, and we know where you are going with it. But we disagree with who they are putting in charge of it. Noel is not capable of what he's aiming for. It is that simple. And you are overreaching as well."

Richard pauses before responding, "What will it take to convince you to agree to this plan? My plan?"

"I want Mitchell, here, to be the Clan Cat Executioner," she says with a gesture to the black man.

"You think he can do it?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at the man, who does have an intimidating presence.

"He was in the Army, just like you, Michaels," she says with a frown of derision. "Just because you served doesn't make you hot shit."

Richard clenches his jaw to hold in his temper, "I won't submit to letting you tell me to do anything without proving to me that either of you are dominant enough, and strong enough, to walk the walk you are talking."

"Name the challenge," she says with a smirk, leaning back in the chair.

"Guards outside," he says, standing and pulling his three knives off of his person, to which Mitchell looks surprised, having not spotted them. "No shifting. Fight to submission or KO. Winner gets to set the terms of our business venture and the Clan structures. I want to see what you two are capable of."

"You're full of yourself," she says with a ruby flash of light in her eyes, the color and tinge of her beast. "I'm going to enjoy humbling you," she adds as she rises and motions the two guards to leave.

"You think you're tough shit, don't you," Mitchell says with a look of disgust at Richard as he stands as well and the three of them walk casually to the head of the table and the slightly open area there while the guards file out with Alex.

"I know what I am," Richard says as Alex closes the double doors solidly. "I'm a Ranger."

"Any of you guys have medical training?" Alex asks after he finishes closing the door.

"Worried about your boss?" one of the were-jackals asks. "She won't kill him, she wants him to do something for her, that's all."

Adam smirks at the other guards as he stands to the side of the door, Hermano on the other side where he snorts. The wall and floor shudder from an impact, causing the light fixtures to rattle and the paintings on the wall to tilt.

"Not worried about our boss," Alex says with a shake of his head as he adjusts his own gray suit and red tie as the sound of fighting continues in the conference room.

"Just cuz he was in the Army don't make him tough shit. I was in for a term, wasn't so hard," the taller of the two guards says with a shake of his head.

"Mr. Michaels was a Ranger," Alex says in explanation.

"A lot of soldiers went to Ranger school, don't mean they're badass," the guard retorts, then the hallway wall buckles inward from the conference room, someone or something thrown into the wall from within.

They all glance at the bulge but don't move, having heard no call for assistance from within, only some growling and snarling.

"Not Ranger school, a Ranger, from the Regiment," Alex says with a nod, as though speaking to a slow child. "Mr. Michaels was a Ranger in the Ranger Regiment, Fifth Battalion, stationed out of Virginia."

"He was with Ghost Battalion?" the guard who had said he was a soldier asks, his face changing expression from derision to shock.

"I think that's what they called them, yes," Alex says, and a moment later the conference room doors crash outward, and Mitchell is lying in the hall amid the ruins of the solid oak door.

"Alex," Richard says as he steps out of the conference room, pulling his nearly shredded suit jacket off. "Please alert our medics that these two need some aid. I had to break some bones to keep them down, and Ms. Jameson seems to have a knack for healing them quickly. I don't want them to heal wrong."

"Yes, sir," he says, gesturing to Adam who puts his hand to his ear and speaks into his radio.

"I like this style of cut, Kate," he says to the were-rat who has been standing politely to the side in the hall while the more senior Pack members have been talking and dealing. "Check my measurements, and order more like it, let me know how much," he continues as he walks casually over Mitchell's groaning form and down the hall towards the stairs.

"And Kate, give a call to Mrs. Sochim, and ask her if she's available to clean up this afternoon," he says as he walks away without looking back. "On the books, and keep the deal sweetened. Alex, I'll have papers for you to pick up in my office in ten minutes for the Jackal Beta."

Everyone watches and holds their tongues, as his shirt and tie are untouched, though his slacks and vest have a few minor scuffs on them. Mitchell is dragging his legs, one broken and bent at the shin, the other bent wrong at the knee, but only using one arm, as his left is cradling his side. Ms. Jameson is lying partially in an indentation in the far wall, the concrete behind the drywall exposed as she sags limply in the indention. Her suit is torn and disheveled, and blood is dripping from her forearm and from her face, out her nose, mouth, ears and hairline.

Richard parks the Humvee in the gravel parking lot out to the side of the Mansion, still wearing his formal wear from earlier, minus the jacket. He had left the office and the Sochim family had ridden with him, the back seat a bench rather than bucket seats for all the kids as Mrs. Sochim had ridden up front, and Mr. Sochim had ridden in back with the kids. The whole family had been available and had helped with clean-up of the conference room, and they had picked up Atticus on the way from the office. He will be taking the Humvee with him to get maintenance done on it and some modifications.

Richard walks up the stairs while waving goodbye to the youngest of the children, then pauses at the front door as he studies the scents of the building. He can smell the Alphas of Clan Wolf, Heavy and Jackal, as well as the Pack Lord. Other scents from the Pack reach him but his attention is immediately riveted on the scent of Tasha, and her own blood. He rushes into the house while continuing to identify the scents present, though he is focused on trying to figure out why she is hurt, and how badly. He slows to a walk as he reaches the side rear door in the hallway, which leads to the back ballroom, and Pack meeting chamber.

Adam and one of the Wolf Clan bodyguards are at the glass door, and Adam motions to halt, then the two guards do a quick and thorough search before admitting him in. During the search they take his knives from his person and he has a chance to calm down from his worry for Tasha. He enters through the double glass doors into the ballroom, and drinks in the scents as he scans the room. With a high arching roof, long and narrow windows reaching nearly to the ceiling thirty feet above, thick curtains over the windows and a chandelier hanging over the center of the floor, the room would be the envy of any Count in Europe. In the center of the fifty yard long, forty yard wide floor space is the gathered council of Alphas, in a semi-circle of chairs that are styled to fit the personalities of those sitting in them.

In a pair of chairs styled with wolf heads on the arms and on the back, and the grain of the wood to look like fur, with Thomas Domasca in a dark wood, looks to be oak, and Theresa Domasca beside him in a paler chair, but of the same size and style. Next to them, on their right and to the left of the center of the arc is the Clan Jackel Alpha, whom Richard officially knows only as Mr. Jay, though his own investigations have discovered much more detail. Mr. Jay has olive skin, appears to be of Hispanic or Middle Eastern descent, with thick black hair slicked back from its shoulder length to keep out of the way, and wears black slacks and a white silk collared shirt.

To the right of the center is Noel in a heavy wood chair carved from a single piece of wood to depict a bear on the back and the clawed paws for the arm rests, and standing just to his right is Tasha. She is wearing a light tan colored vest, a white v-neck t-shirt and jeans, and her hair pulled back in a tight braid. She has some yellow healing bruises and marks on her arms, neck and face, and he can see the marks where cuts have healed over on her face and arms. Seeing her eases him, and his tension level lowers as he enters to the center of the semi-circle and goes to a single knee towards the center of the arc.

In the center of the arc is the Pack Lord on a simple pine wood chair, leaning back with his right leg crossed over his left knee, wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt, managing to look like a movie star on vacation. As Richard kneels, the Pack Lord places both feet on the floor and leans forward, his hands on his knees.

"The magic is up, and the wards here are solid," Pelos says, gesturing at the glimmering light over the windows and beyond to the boundary of the property. "No one can scry by magic what happens here, and your own trained security men have checked to ensure our privacy. I have summoned the Alphas, to talk of the threat that has entered our territory, as well as our future."

"I respect the Pack Lord," Mr. Jay says with a bow towards Pelos, but his gaze sweeps the group. "But every action is an excuse to talk of central control, and subverting our people to the control of others. I am not that trusting of the other Clans."

"Are you more trusting of the People?" Noel asks from his own chair, sitting back with his back straight. "They would send their vampires at us if we give them a reason to think us weak, they have before, and we barely fended them off then."

"We are stronger now, there are more of us," Thomas says, his fist held before him for emphasis. "And now we have more organization."

"Richard Michaels," Pelos says, cutting into the heating argument with a voice that is dominant and the others look down in submission at the authority. "Tell this council where you come from, and what you know of the Iron Dogs of Roland."

The council raise their heads at the statement, then look at Richard. They have all heard part of his background, through rumor or research, and they all know of Roland, the master of the People and an Ancient from the times before the last magic shift, thousands of years ago, though only myth and rumor. That Richard would know more than any of them surprises them, and they focus their attention on him, as he keeps his own gaze on the floor in front of him, still kneeling.

"Sir, Alphas," he says with a glance around the arc, still keeping his head down. "I— ."

"Richard," Pelos interrupts, "don't act against your instinct. Be yourself, I want the others to know what Noel and I know."

"Yes, sir," Richard says with a nod at Pelos from his lowered brow.

He then stands and squares his shoulders and looks around at the arc of Alphas, meeting all their gazes levelly and without fear. His jaw set and feet squared, hands clasped loosely behind his back, he changes from a subject brought before a group of nobles to predator in his own right, unafraid. He nods respect and averts his gaze only to Pelos, and the other Alphas shift in their seats, though not openly contesting his actions.

"My name is Richard Michaels, I am the Executioner of Clan Heavy," he begins, his voice firm as he looks around and speaks. "I was a human for all my life, weaker, slower, and with no ability in magic at all. I was infected with Lyc-V, and became a were-tiger, though I was not exposed to that strain. In joining the Pack, I toppled Clan Cat, and killed four challengers as I took my place as Executioner."

"Your history, Michaels, tell us your history," Noel says, waving to the rest of the council as his gravelly voice fills the room.

"I joined the military at seventeen," he replies with a nod. "Infantry, and served two years as a regular soldier before being promoted to sergeant and transferring to the Rangers. I was accepted into the Ranger Regiment, and was given additional evaluations after Ranger School and the Survival Course. I was selected for Fifth Battalion, and served with them for the rest of my time in the military, seven years, where I was promoted to Sergeant First Class, just before the Carnage of New Orleans."

The Alphas stiffen as he speaks, the reputation of the Fifth Battalion known to all supernatural creatures as the elite of the nation's human soldiers. Only humans can join it, and they are trained to a level that puts them on par with a normal shapeshifter, even without any enhancements. The actions of the unit are legend and myth, a source of concern for other powers that be in the world, and a significant reason that the United States has not completely fallen apart or been attacked more often, as no one wants to take on the Ghost Battalion.

"We heard of New Orleans, that the fords broke, and monsters flooded the city," Mr. Jay says with a tilt of his head. "You were there?"

"My Platoon was sent, just before, as we'd seen the storm coming, and the government wanted a contingency in place," he explains. "We were there for a month, with no resupply, no reinforcement. Only three of us survived from a platoon of thirty six. It would take days to explain all the things that happened, the things we fought, but in the end, I left the army, and came to Houston."

"You were granted amnesty, with the others, the following year, correct?" Pelos asks, prodding the information out of him.

"Yes, I was, and I didn't have to hide anymore," he says with a nod. "But I didn't go back. The unit was like a family to me, and they betrayed me. They left us to die, and the people there in the city as well. I worked with the Guild as a Merc until I was infected. But while I was in, I got the briefings and did missions, some involving the Iron Dogs."

"Who are they?" Theresa asks, leaning forward intently in her chair, her eyes eager and sharp.

"Roland has been around for thousands of years, but he slept most of it away," Richard says, not yet answering the question. "No one knows when he woke up, but the Order of the Iron Dogs, his dedicated followers and elite soldiers, existed even when he slept."

"How do you know that?" Mr. Jay asks.

"His agents are fanatical and devoted, many indoctrinated from childhood," he explains. "Some of those are old enough to have begun their process prior to the Shift. Not only that, but intel on his generals and commanders indicate they were brought in up to seven hundred years ago, maybe more. There were theories as to why, but I didn't get those briefings."

"Back to the Iron Dogs, what are they capable of?" Thomas asks, his curiosity overriding his feelings towards Richard.

Richard rolls his shoulders but ignores the direct tone, "They are human, shapeshifter, magic users, every type of person or creature you've heard of. Roland is an equal opportunity dictator, and he doesn't skimp on equipment or training. These guys are good, real good. These two guys that I've fought this week, the bounty and the vengeful student, they were both exceptional, and hard to beat. Neither one was a shapeshifter, and in honesty, I only think the Alphas on the Council could match or have beaten the student."

"Not the mentor?" Noel asks, frowning in thought.

"The mentor was slow, weakening," Richard says with a frown of his own and a shake of his head. "It was like he couldn't use magic for some reason, and he smelled wrong, something in his blood I think."

"He had cancer," Tasha says from beside Noel, looking around at the council. "I took the blood sample and did some research and analysis. He was taking chemotherapy and some magical treatments, but I would guess it was too far along. He probably couldn't strain himself with magic use."

"He was sneaky and fast, despite that," Richard says with a twist of his head.

"The bottom line is this," Pelos says in a solid voice that everyone listens to and turns to him. "They are sending their people after us. This is a probe, a test, and more will come. No one here thinks they will quit. We must be ready to meet them. We must prepare."

"What do you propose?" Mr. Jay asks, as the council all scowl at the announcement but none disagree.

"Clan Cat reestablished," Pelos says with his gaze sweeping the assembled Alphas.

"Who to lead them?" Thomas asks, though he knows the answer.

"The Lion Pride, with Richard and Tasha as their Alphas," Pelos says with a gesture at the two. "And Richard Michaels as the Pack Executioner."

"Pack Executioner?" Thomas says with a snort. "Isn't that overambitious? We have never had need of one before, and I don't know if he is up to the task."

"What does Clan Jackal say to that?" Noel asks across the semi-circle with a raised eyebrow.

"My Clan Beta and Mitchell, my best pit figher, were both beaten into unconsciousness this afternoon by Mr. Michaels," Mr. Jay says with a flat expression. "At the same time."

Everyone stares at Richard for a long moment as that sinks in, and Mr. Jay resumes, "I have no reservations that he is up to the task."

"Neither do I," Noel says with a nod of agreement.

"Nor I," Theresa says with a gracious nod of her own, and Thomas simply scowls, then nods as well.

"Richard Michaels, Tasha Nash," Pelos says, rising to his feet with a smile spreading on his tan face. "Welcome to the council. I have chairs coming, we have much to discuss."

"Well, that happened suddenly," Tasha says as they sit alone on the back porch of the Mansion, Adam a short distance away scanning the surroundings.

"What happened to you?" Richard asks softly, sitting in a chair next to her, his hand on her knee.

"Nita picked a fight with me when I got home, in front of everyone that was there, which was most of the Pride and a number of visitors," she says with a sigh. "I didn't submit, and we threw down."

"Is she dead?" he asks, eyebrows raised in question.

"No, but for a little while she wished she was," she says with a smirk. "She's a vicious fighter, but you were right, undisciplined. I took her apart as long as I kept my head. Took me over twenty minutes, though."

"We're looking at a _lot_ of new people," he says with a sigh. "Heavy got a good chunk of the old Cat Clan, but the others pulled over half of them, and they had their own cats internal that Danny had either given them or never cared about," he says with a sigh.

"And then there's that, Danny," she says with a tight smile, shaking her head. "How do you want to deal with that? We don't have to take him."

"They named us both Alphas," he says with a solid breath, his mind made up. "And I intend to take every cat in the entire Pack into the new clan. We'll take them, and any other of the Nimble or odd families and make them _ours_."

She smiles at him, placing her own hand on his, and his gaze shifts from the distance and forward thoughts to her eyes, her blue piercing eyes that always soothe him.

"You said ours," she says with a smile, then leans in and kisses him.

Richard looks up from his stack of papers in his office, the knock on his doorframe pulling him from his reading. He's been spending the last three days reading files on the members joining Clan Cat, skimming the highlights of each but noting those of significance. He's also been scanning summaries of lists from the other Clans that he's received from Pelos and his wife, Richette, those that may need his attention or influence as the Pack's Enforcer and Security expert. He's barely seen Tasha, but she's been all over the city, meeting with all the new Clan members individually or by family, though Richard had ensured that Adam had kept a pair of security with her. She can take care of herself, but the guards are also a status symbol that will make things easier.

Alex is at his door, two cups of tea in his hands, steaming and the scent of green tea with ginseng reaching him. He accepts his cup with a nod, Alex sitting across from him.

"So, how does it look, boss?" Alex asks with a raised brow. With Richard tackling more of the Clan and Pack business, Alex has been covering down on the business side, and hasn't had a chance to catch up on the other side, yet, and vice versa for Richard.

"Six of one, half dozen of another," Richard says with a sigh. "I'm petitioning for the Clan to take all the non-affiliated species, except the boudas. I think, based off the lists and summaries I have, that I can shape out a Clan Rat, and eventually a Clan Nimble, but those won't be ready for months, probably more like a year or more. In the meantime, they'll be families within the Clan."

"It's the start of a plan," Alex agrees with a nod.

"And I need you to look at the lists, too," Richard says, handing a list to him with names, some highlighted in different colors and a key down at the bottom. "You're management with me, so we need to look at interviewing those people for those fields, so we can start to flesh out the whole Pack in a way similar to what we were doing in Heavy."

"That's…" he trails off, looking at the pages of the list. "That's a lot of people."

"We have eight hundred eighty three shapeshifters in the Pack as of yesterday," Richard says with a sigh. "We need to be more organized, or we'll get picked off piecemeal. The call up process, the notifications, the schedules, tithes, duties, all of it, we need to appoint people into those jobs, and we need to do it last month."

"I know you want us to be ready boss, but what's the rush?" Alex asks, glancing back up at his mentor, who is rubbing his head in a manner that worries the younger man.

"I wasn't fighting the leaders or the best of them when I took those two down," Richard says in a hushed tone, meaning the Iron Dogs. "There's a half dozen or so fighters in the Pack that can take one, the rest would have to pair up or more, just to take out one. If they send a team, prepared, coordinated…"

Alex looks at the list, then back at Richard as realization hits, "You know how they'd do it?"

"Better than you anyone else in the Pack," Richard says, shaking his head and pulling a bottle of whiskey from the drawer of his desk, ignoring the tea sitting at his elbow. "And we need to get our shit together. Fast. We have a few more small attacks coming before they commit, and the only good news is, they'll be coming for me."

"That's the good news?" Alex asks, taking a shot of the whiskey in his mug.

"Yeah, don't tell Tasha," he says with a chuckle.

Richard walks out the front door of his office with Will just behind him, pausing as he takes note of a man sitting on the curb cross legged, facing the door. The man is Native American, with shoulder length black hair, wide shoulders and a fit posture, looking like a runner rather than a weightlifter to his eye. The man has on faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a denim vest over it, and a smirk on his face as he watches Richard exit the building and pause as they assess each other.

"You are?" Richard asks, his hand resting on his sword hilt, uneasy from the attacks last week, though Will stands just behind him.

"Billy," the man says, rising smoothly to his sandaled feet with the grace of a shapeshifter. "Been looking around for you, if you are indeed him."

"Who are you looking for?" Richard asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Mercenary Shapeshifter, registered by the guild, goes by the title, 'Executioner'," the man says with a tilt of his head. "Better known to the world as Richard Michaels, the face of the Houston Pack."

"My secretary is inside, you can make an appointment if you want to hire me specifically for a contract," Richard says with a wave over his shoulder, starting to walk down the street to where his horse is stabled.

"David Marsters sent us word that you were the one to talk to, not the others," the man says, and Richard pauses in his step.

"Marsters," Richard repeats, slowly turning to the man. "What does he look like?"

"An old Indian," the young man says with a half-smile. "He finally started to get gray in his hair last I saw him, less than a month ago. Laugh wrinkles, and the elder of his tribe, a strong shaman. Carries his tomahawk everywhere."

"What does it look like?" Richard asks, the young man having not said anything to distinguish himself.

"Old, of stone, but with an amber vein in it, and strong as steel despite that," the young man says with a nod.

"I am a busy man, with a lot of responsibilities," Richard says with a stern look at the man, which is meant to dispel any thought of joking or nonsense. "What do you want?"

"The Nation is being threatened," Billy says with a somber nod. "We need help, and David Marsters says you can be trusted."

"Do you have a horse or car?" Richard asks as he resumes his walk to the stables and waves Billy to follow.

"Neither, I walked into town," Billy replies eagerly, and Richard judges his age to be in his early twenties. "I can keep up with horses, though, if we're going somewhere."

"Can you talk and jog at the same time?" Richard asks as they enter the privately owned and operated stable on the block's corner for those who work in this part of town.

"Yes, sir," the young man replies. He helps Will as they draw their horses from the stable, checking the saddles and harnesses.

A few minutes later, and they are trotting down the street, Billy jogging at their side. Richard doesn't speak for a few minutes, trying to judge the young man, and when he doesn't seem strained or tired, he speaks up.

"So what type of shapeshifter are you, then?" he asks conversationally.

"Coyote," Billy says with a smile that shows teeth. "Both my parents were, too."

"So why did you come to me?" Richard asks, watching pedestrians as they ride through the office portion of downtown.

"We are a mixed tribe of humans, shapeshifters, magic users, and some others that have survived and banded together," Billy says, repeating what Richard already knows, but likely reciting a statement from his elder. "We are being threatened in our western territory. Our trackers have followed it to a series of tunnels, connecting to mineshafts in the hills, old mines. We can't identify the scent, but the ground tracks look like it's four footed, and in the six hundred pound range."

"They attacked small parties, three to four?" Richard asks, his face thoughtful. "And they had been gnawed on, but seemed to be sucked dry of internal organs and fluids?"

"Yes," Billy says, "How did you know?"

"Chicucabras," Richard says with a nod. "They take down coyotes and large game, sometimes whatever pops out of a magic wave if they can take it down. They've never been this far north, though."

"We don't wish to contract through the guild," Billy says.

"The People would hear about it, and be on you like sharks," Richard says with a nod, not mentioning that the tunnels would make them vulnerable, the reason they want to keep it quiet. "I can help, we can do it tonight. I know where your central camp is, I'll meet you there as soon as I gather equipment from my house."

"The Nation thanks you, Richard Michaels," Billy says, then turns off the thinning road and onto a side street.

"Isn't there a security council tonight to go over the details of the Pack gathering on the Full moon?" Will asks.

"Adam is handling the particulars, and Tasha should be home, I'll pass along to her or who's on guard," he says with a shrug. "I haven't been doing enough Merc work, lately, I need to keep up my reputation, and it'll get us an in with the Nation, they'll owe me a solid favor for doing this."

"Who is Marsters?" Will asks as they trot along.

"An Indian Chief in the northern Appalachians," he says with a wave of dismissal. "Knew him back when I was in the Army."

Richard trots his horse out of the Indian Camp, smiling and waving at the children and people gathered around. He leaves the small town, heading to the hills further west where the chicucabras are reportedly at. He dismounts outside the opening to a mineshaft at the base of the hill and walks inside, the M4 carbine cradled in his hands, as the tech is up. It is a long night, and as dawn colors the edges of the horizon, he emerges again, but with no rifle and both his axe and sword out, both covered in blood.

He pauses in the pre-dawn twilight, watching the stars fade away, and looks around with an angry grimace. His horse is gone, and with it his spare food and equipment. He sighs, having been up now for over twenty four hours and his patience wearing thin. He rips a piece of his sleeve off, wipes down his weapons, and begins jogging to the Indian Camp.

Tasha sits on the platform on the Clan's barn in Richard's property. She's leaning forward and looking nervously at the stars in the sky, a hard frown on her face. He left yesterday to clear out the varmints in the Nation's caves, and he didn't return to the village before noon. They had called and she'd sent Alex and three others with him to find out what is going on. She has no reason to think there's something wrong, but she has a feeling, an itch on the back of her neck she can't explain.

The sound of horses approaching the main gate catches her attention and she swings her head to look that way, her two foot long hair braided tightly in finger thick braids along her sides and back swinging at the sudden movement. She squints, her sharp blue eyes peering at the torchlight projected from the front gatehouse. A group of riders is approaching, and she leaps from the platform and lands with a cloud of dirt as she lands solidly behind the house, bent knees absorbing the impact. She runs up to the gate, but slows to a trot and a walk as she sees who is in the group, buying herself time to think.

Ragnar and his two sons are riding up with Alex and the others, and the presence of the Vikings sets off warning bells in her head. That set of thoughts is dwarfed, however, by the fact that Alex has come in with Richard's weapons belt slung over his shoulder and a grim expression. She pauses at the threshold of the gate and looks at Ragnar under lowered brows as she adjusts her leather jacket to allow her to access the saber on her hip.

"Alex, go inside and prepare me a briefing, leave nothing out," she says, waving them past, Ragnar and his sons halting a dozen yards away and dismounting.

"Tasha Lionheart," Ranar says, his sons Floki and Jark behind him. "I have come on important business."

"Richard is not here, when he returns, I will inform him you have come to see him," she says with a nod to him, but he shakes his head as she talks.

"It is about Richard, Lioness," he says, frowning and working his mouth. "My crone, the soothseer of my village, she saw him in the flames. The All-Father, One eye, has called to me to send my sons to find him, and return him to his home."

Tasha studies him for a pair of breaths, then glances at the two youths, realizing now that all three wear more modern additions to their Viking garb. They still wear trousers and boots, but their armor is not homemade of period materials, and neither are their weapons. Floki has modern bow and arrow, Jark has a good steel shield and axe with composites, and they wear modern tactical vests under their cloaks.

"Why?" she asks simply, looking at him squarely.

"The All-Father has told us to stop living in the past, and to take our place in the present, so that we can have a better future," Ragnar says solidly under his own lowered brows. "Richard TigerEye is our ally in this, and they are called to this quest."

She mulls over it for a breath, then nods, "They may come with me, but they are not Alphas, they are not in charge."

"Agreed," he says, turning to his sons with a nod. "You two understand where you stand with the Pack, do not disgrace me or yourselves."

"Aye, father," both intone with a nod, and they join Tasha as Ragnar leaves.

Tasha pauses and absorbs their addition, then turns to the house with them in tow. Her mind is flying as she stalks to the house, the other Clan members avoiding her gaze and staying out of her way. Richard is missing, but she is the Alpha of the Clan in his absence, even if most consider him to be the strong arm of their pair. She had killed three challengers in the last week who tried to take the spot of female Alpha of the Clan, and she had won on her own merits, though Richard had been present and watched each battle.

Since she and Richard had begun their relationship, she has exercised more, trained harder, and focused on being a better fighter. A year ago she was strong, as all shapeshifters are, but she is stronger and better now. A year ago she would have lost to Nita, and died at the hands of the challengers, and looking back she can't believe she had ever been that weak, that naïve. Richard had come into her life and made her better, stronger than she knew she was capable of. And now he's missing.

Her first feelings when she had considered the thought of him missing was of panic, immediately followed by shame and anger. She is not a weak flower or delicate vase to be protected and sheltered. She is a Lioness, the big cat among the largest of the felines, the protector and provider for her Pride. Those thoughts, and the thought that Richard trusts her to be strong in his absence fuels her drive and her determination.

"Report," she says with unquestioned authority as she arrives in the gym adjacent to the house.

"His horse was found, slaughtered, two miles off the trail he used to get to the mines," Alex says without preamble. "His trail did not accompany it from the mines, it strayed, with his weapons left behind and scraps of clothing. He shifted and went off the trail. Less than a mile from the trail, wolfsbane, and the trail went cold."

Tasha clenches her jaw as her mind works, "Signs of struggle?"

"No," Alex says with a shake of his head. "Some blood at the mine, but from his scuffle with the Chicucabras. And a brief rain had hit the area, destroying prints, we couldn't find any clues."

"We'll have to do a divining," she says with a nod. "Bring in the Sochims, they have good tracking ability and the wife can do the spell. When she gets a lead, you will take a hunting party and find him. Jark and Floki will join you."

"Let me take Will and Hermano," Alex says with a nod of understanding for the task ahead.

"Hermano, but not Will," she says with a shake of her head. "I need Will here, with Adam. With Richard gone, challengers will reveal themselves, and enemies outside the Pack will attack."

"Yes, Alpha," he says with a nod of his head. "I will find him, and bring him back."

"Alex," she says with a solid tone as he turns to the others in the room with him, and he returns to look at her again.

She is standing square at him and her hand rests easily on the hilt of the sabre Richard had given her. Her posture, though firm, is relaxed and she smiles at him lopsidedly.

"I would not worry about bringing him back," she says with a light tone, shaking her head slightly. "He is a tiger and enjoys solitary hunts. When you find him, just remind him that we are waiting for him, and that I miss him."

"Yes, ma'am," Alex says with a solemn nod, then leaves the gym, the impromptu meeting place for the Clan leaders.

Tasha maintains her relaxed pose as the other cats file out, and she returns to the main house as her head continues to run through the situation. That last part was a show, completely for the benefit of the Clan and the Pack. She's worried beyond belief, but she can't show weakness to the Clan or the Pack, or else she will be challenged. That will waste time and effort better placed elsewhere, and run the risk that she might actually lose, as she is still not as good a fighter as others believe. So she puts on the face and ignores the voice inside her that yells to run out and find him, drag him back, and to hell with everyone else.

That wouldn't protect her people, though, and now that she is Alpha, she is responsible for them, their safety and protection. That series of thoughts and understanding is also a gift from Richard, that being Alpha is not a privilege, but a burden and a responsibility. That belief is shared by everyone he has influenced, everyone he has trained and set into positions within the Clan and the Pack. And with him gone, they have to shoulder the trust he's placed on them until he returns.

Richard pads down the side of the mountain in animal form, his eyes scanning his surroundings as his nose continues to parse the scents around him. The last twenty four hours has been a blur to him, and he can't even recall how he ended up here on the side of the mountain. His thoughts and memories jump from following his backtrail to the Nation's village to a blurred sense of conflict and then a fight with what he is certain are other shapeshifters, though the images are blurry. He came to his senses on a granite rock here on the side of the mountain, the moon high in the night sky, and in his beast form.

Once the clouds had partially cleared enough for him to see the stars above, he had cursed the gods as he tried to figure out where he was. He placed the north star and major constellations, and after that he was confused then angry. His appraisal of the trees and undergrowth, as well as the wildlife only confirms his initial suspicion. Somehow he has been transported into South America, somewhere in the Andes Mountains, thousands of miles from home.

On its own, that was disturbing and enraging, but the hunting party following him from the Azteka Empire further infuriates him. Though only a guess, his current estimate is that they are responsible for both the chicucabra infestation and his own abduction/transportation. There are two parties following him, he has caught glimpses of them following him and trying to steer his movements. He has proven to be a step ahead, he thinks, in that he has moved more as a human would, rather than as an animal or shapeshifter. An animal would follow the trail, perhaps hide, and a shapeshifter would turn and attack, ambush his pursuers.

He has taken another path, and instead has gone in the direction of an insurmountable obstacle, what would be considered a dead end to most. He has climbed the side of the mountain and is nearing the ridgeline, outpacing and outdistancing his pursuers. Having crested the ridge, he has moved to the military crest on the opposite side and begun a faster pace south, whereas earlier he had headed north, towards the US and home. His movements are still generally westward, however, and he hopes his plan to get home works.

"Mrs Sochim, please explain," Alex says with a near growl as he sits at the conference table in Hoffman Resources, where the were-lynx has cast the divining spell to locate Richard.

"He's alive, but his location is clouded," she says with a sigh. "With the hair our Alpha has provided, I can make a compass that works during magic, though I or someone who can operate one must make it function."

"How far away is he?" Alex asks, frowning deeply, his fingers drumming on the table as he thinks.

She glances nervously at her husband, who answers, "I have used this compass before, and by getting two readings from different locations I can give an estimate. It is not good news."

"Just tell me," Alex says with a frown.

"It is over three hundred miles," Atticus says with a frown of his own. "And it is one hundred and eighty-seven degrees, south."

Alex's drumming stops as he absorbs this, glancing at the old style map decorating the wall of the conference room. That puts him either in Mexico, Central America or South America. He immediately looks at Hermano, the only other person in the room besides him and the Sochims.

"No one outside, boss," the were-leopard says without being asked, Alex ensuring this conversation is not overheard.

Alex sighs and leans forward, "This stays here, and no further."

The others nod, and Alex continues, "The man who ran the Loups that caused Mr Michaels' lycanthropy also had connections to exotic hunters. North America and Europe has made it illegal, as we know, but Asia and South America have different views and laws. The Azteka Empire in South America has many hunting preserves that we know of from the bust we made earlier this year."

"What does this have to do with Mr. Michaels' disappearance?" Hermano asks, not understanding.

"The varmits were too far north for a normal infestation, and the corpses we found were too large and the colony was too big," Alex says in explanation, Mr Sochim nodding in understanding.

"They were planted," he says with his accented English. "Mr. Michaels is of the rarest bloodline, a were-tiger of mythic origins."

"It's the only theory I have right now," Alex says as he rubs his chin, gazing at the map on the wall. "There are some gaps, but we may be able to fill them in as we travel."

"Travel where?" Hermano asks, nervous at the unexpected turn. He'd thought it was the people or the Nation, or perhaps the government, this is a surprise.

"We'll start with Columbia," Alex says, standing and tapping the map on the wall. "It's jungle and is the border between Mexico and the Azteka Empire. I think I have some dirt on some traffickers there we can use to plan the next step."

"I will go, to operate the compass," Atticus says with a solid nod. "My wife must stay to care for the children."

"Of course," Alex says with a nod at the older man. "It will be you, me, Hermano, and the two Vikings. Too large a group and we risk exposure, too small and we can't handle trouble or be effective when we get there."

"What do we tell Ms. Nash?" Hermano asks, nervous and more than a little scared of the Alpha female.

"I will inform the Alpha," Alex says with a nod. "You two grab our Viking additions and pack for a long journey. Hermano, full security lockdown is in effect for our group. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Hermano says, nodding. "No communication outside the group without your permission, and we coordinate any equipment or needs internally."

"We will meet at the docks," Alex says, looking at his watch. "There should be a ship moving this evening, I'll work out the details, and we'll meet up at Will's gym."

Alex walks down the hall and where Tasha is in Richard's office, the Clan's place of business in the city. She looks up from the folder she's reading as he enters with her permission, closing the door behind him.

"Where is he?" she asks, her tone hard, and Alex notes that she doesn't ask if he's alive, and he internally smiles, knowing that he didn't even consider him being dead as a possibility either.

"At least a few hundred miles south, South America somewhere, I think," he says as he sits, not as formal with just the two of them. "If he were closer, I'd say he would get home on his own, but there…"

"Azteka or Inkana Empires," she says with a slow nod. "I'm not an expert on either, though, so I have no idea on the possibilities or dangers."

"I'll take Hermano and Atticus as well as the Ragnarsons," Alex says, absently running a hand through his hair. "But I don't know of any of the Cats that are familiar with the land to the south."

"I do," Tasha says with a scowl. "But he's in Jackal."

Alex thinks for a minute, "Mitchell?"

"Unfortunately," she says with a sigh. "I'll call them if the phones are working, and get him to go with you."

"I have arrangements to make, we'll be leaving in the next twelve hours, we're meeting again at Will's gym," Alex says, standing again. "With your leave, Alpha."

"Find him, and kill whoever took him from me," she growls, her jaw clenching and her eyes flashing gold.

"Yes, Lioness," Alex says with a bow of deference, then leaves the office to arrange transportation.

Richard pauses in his movement, focusing on listening to his surroundings. Exhaustion is creeping in on him, and he is having a hard time focusing on his surroundings. Between that and his hunger, he knows that if he were to shift to human form now, he would pass out for at least a couple hours. He needs to remain conscious, and he needs food.

The hooting of the owl that has been following echoes through the remains of the night, and he wonders to himself if it is coincidence or if it's actually following him. As the thought crosses his mind, he detects a slight movement of the shadows to his right rear, and he listens as he looks to his left. He slowly starts to move again, and an explosion of movement comes from his rear. Expecting it, he darts out of the way, staying low to the ground as he turns on his attacker.

Nearly his own size, the cat-like ambusher jumps again, and Richard jumps towards it, but offset to the side, raking his left claw across its face and his right against its side. As he passes it, a sharp pain catches his side, and then the creature's weight pulls him off balance and to the ground. He rolls onto the limb grabbing him like a hand and kicks out with his hind claws at the attacker, cutting open its stomach. It screams at the night and rolls away from him, and Richard can see that its tail has a jointed claw on it, the appendage had grabbed him.

He leaps low at the creature, and the monster dodges to the side in anticipation of the attack. Richard pushes off to the side and adjusts his leap, catching the creature on the side, pinning it to the ground as he tears into it. He adjusts his bite on the cat like neck, tearing with his hind legs as he does. Pain shoots up his hindquarters from the creature's tail clamping on, but he ignores it, crushing the windpipe in his jaws, then jerking it sideways and ripping the throat out entirely.

As the ambusher twitches its death throes, Richard rears up and roars at the night, his claws planted on his prey. He takes a few breaths, his blood rushing through his veins, making him feel alive and full of energy, but he shakes his head and regains his senses. His roar announced his presence to those hunting him, and he curses himself for it, but he looks at the dead creature at his feet. He plants his claws and rips off the flesh, bolting down the meat, the hot blood coating his maw as he eats.

Alex sits in the bow of the ship, a longboat owned by a Viking merchant out of the Houston Pier. The captain is on good terms with Ragnar, and for a sizeable fee and an agreement for future shipping from Clan Cat and the Neo-Vikings, has agreed to go off course and smuggle them onto the shores of what used to be Brazil. From there, he and his team is going to have to figure out how to navigate the rainforest and find Richard.

"This sucks," Mitchell growls, squatting against the rail. "I joined the Army, not the Navy."

"You're not in the Army, anymore," Alex says with a smirk. "You are in the Pack, and we go where the Pack sends us."

"Sounds more like the Legion," Atticus says from the opposite rail of Mitchell. "And not the only thing reminiscent of it, when it comes to Mr. Michaels," he adds, running a cleaning rag along the flat of the roman gladius he has from the Clan stores.

"If this is the Legion, then he is the Legate," Alex says in a singsong fashion, smirking at the salt wind. "And if someone messes with our leader, they mess with us all."

"Hooah to that," Mitchell says with a smile. "That's why I like you all, we take care of our own, both ways."

Richard crouches on the branch, in shadows of the tree, high above the light jungle floor. He has turned around on his pursuers, and lies in wait, one of the two hunting parties passing beneath him. He had started doubling back and tracking, identifying his enemies. There were four in this group, one a shapeshifter, not smelling like one infected with Lyc-V, but saturated with magic. The others are humans of one type or another, and he mentally categorizes the group as beaters rather than hunters, carrying assault rifles, shotguns as well as bows.

The magic is up, and he can feel the power coming from their quivers, they carry explosive heads. The shapeshifter is in Jaguar form, nose following his scent on the old trail below. Normally he would attack her first, but the explosive heads are too great a threat, so he waits for the large cat to pass, gathering himself for a pounce on the largest of the three men following. He hops from the branch and drops onto the man, his jaw immediately onto the back of his neck, crushing the vertebrae immediately.

His weight is crushing on the smaller human, despite the man's large size, and Richard rolls to the side as he crushes the bones further. He pounces to the side and into the trees, a small opening there he had eyed from above. The arrow of the next man in the group strikes the tree trunk and explodes, sending wooden shrapnel into the underbrush and back towards the group. Richard changes his direction and back towards the group, following in the footsteps of the explosion and using it to his advantage.

He bursts from the underbrush and onto the man who had fired, his front claws catching onto the man's bow and chest, his claws digging into the metal breastplate. The man chuffs the air from his lungs, and rolls to the side, trying to survive the impact on his chest. Richard pounces beyond the man as he pulls a long dagger at slashes at him in a flash, opening a small gash on his right hindquarter. Richard is back into the underbrush and dashing away from the party again, the man's bow having been destroyed and the man is injured as well.

He circles wide and approaches the group again a handful of minutes later from downwind, creeping low in the brush towards where he can hear the three remaining tend to the wounds of one of their own. Richard watches from within the branches at forty yards, his silhouette hidden, though the light jungle of the mountainside will not allow him to approach closer without giving away his position. He will wait until dark, then attack again, and destroy this party. Then he will be able to scavenge the remains to allow him to shift to human form well supplied and ready for a trip to his next destination.

"He's moving," Atticus says, frowning as he looks at the hair floating on the coin sized piece of wood in the water, tinged an odd color that he deciphers to give distance. "Show me the map again."

Hermano shifts the map over, and Atticus glances at it for a moment, then back at the magic compass before his concentration breaks. He harrumphs to himself as he lets the spell drift off, sitting back on his haunches.

"He is near the mountains, I think," he says, gesturing to the map. "He's moved further west, it looks like, but the distance is uncertain. He could be in the jungle, the mountains, or beyond near the coast."

"The opposite coast?" Alex asks, frowning hard. They are at the northeastern coast of what was Brazil before the return of magic. "That's a lot of jungle to cross. Mitchell, suggestions?"

"We can hire a barge to get us in, through the jungle, but it's risky," he says, rubbing his chin in thought, looking at a different map of the continent. "Especially as it's through the heartland of Azteka. It would be faster and less risky to go around, back to the Canal, then down the western coast."

"That is not going to be cheap," Alex says, frowning hard. "It would have been better to know this earlier. We could have gone there first."

"The angularity wasn't enough to know where he was," Atticus says with a shrug, storing away his gear for the spell. "It was unavoidable, but now I have a better idea of where he is, and we can get him. How hard is it going to be to get there?"

"Viking ships won't go through the canal," Jark says from where he sits with his axe in the tent they are in outside the small village they had landed in. "Too much tech, unnatural, they say. We'll have to contract from another captain, or go overland."

"Overland will take way too long," Mitchell says with shake of his head. "And dangerous. The jungle there is unforgiving, especially during magic waves."

"Ship it is then," Alex says with a frown of thought. "And our previous ride already left. We'll have to wait for the tech to rise again, so I can use the sat phone and call in, see if I can arrange something. Until then, let's get walking, see if we can commandeer a ship."

Richard crouches in the brush, twilight having passed and darkness now shrouding the landscape as he looks upon his prey. The magic had remained up, and though Richard would prefer to attack them in the tech, his time is running out, as they have called for assistance, and he cannot chance encountering the other hunting party before he is ready. The magic shapeshifter sits cross legged and waiting, scanning the darkness, and Richard moves by slow inches when her eyes are not in his area.

He is ten yards from them, and has decided that now is the time to strike. She looks away again in her scanning, and he pounces from the darkness. He does not attack her, though, but past her, onto the turned form of another of the group. The man screams as Richard clamps his huge jaws onto his shoulder, and suddenly the tattoos on the man's skin alight in red. The man's skin turns black with red edging tattoos and the clothes burst into flames, the fire scorching Richard's mouth and fur in contact. The man's magic is hot lava skin.

Richard doesn't release, however, but twists and grabs with his claws. He strains and breaks the man's neck, and the head falls away, the bitter stone breaking at the neck under the strain. He rolls away from the dead man as an explosive arrowhead explodes, his hide peppered with hot shrapnel. He is up and moving again, but is confronted by three sets of eyes, panther-like creatures now between him and his prey. They have long tentacles over their shoulders with mouths and teeth on the ends, and he dodges to the side as one of them strikes out with the appendages.

He dances aside and again, then pounces, his heavier weight bearing down on one of the creatures and he tears into its side with his claws while clamping at the base of the tentacles. They are rubbery and he can feel the blood in his mouth as he rips them off the creature's shoulders. It shrieks in pain, and the other two shy away at the quick violence Richard has brought on them. Their eyes flash a green and they advance again, and he recognizes the flash behind them, the other human in the group controlling them.

He leaps high over the group and arcs down to where the last human is, and is hit in his side with an agonizing pain before he connects, landing hard on the man and feeling ribs crack in his victim. The green glow around the man's head pulses and dies, and he turns to see the two remaining beasts twitch then dash into the underbrush. He moves, pain piercing his ribs, and another arrow strikes where he had been, exploding in a flash and washing heat over him. The witch shapeshifter has been firing arrows at him all along.

She sets down the bow almost casually as Richard dashes at her, and she shifts into an enormous jaguar, nearly his own size. They meet head on, teeth claws and tails flashing in the light of the low fire the hunting party had used. Richard feels the pain from the shrapnel and an arrow protruding from his ribs, but pushes it aside, forcing his body to behave as he commands it, his mind and his will stronger by far. The other cat pushes him away and they circle each other for a moment, blood dripping from both of them. The rents in Richard's hide visibly bleed less and slow, his Lyc-V count astronomically high and his regeneration incredible, the witch's non-existent.

The jaguar attacks again, realizing its weakness, and Richard dips under the attack and twists, clamping on the other's neck and ripping the jugular to the side. The other cat still scores deep gouges on his shoulders, but he shrugs the damage aside as the witch twitches in her death throes, then stills. She shimmers and reverts to her human form, and he breathes deep, assessing his wounds and the environment. He reaches down and pulls out the arrow in his ribs with his teeth, feeling the burn of silver in the arrowhead. The arrow was in to the fletching, and he drops it once removed, and he stumbles as he approaches the low fire.

The magic wave suddenly recedes, and tech rules the world, causing him to shudder for a moment, then he shrinks and shifts, falling to his knees in human form. The pain of his injuries causes him to gasp deeply, but also focuses and keeps him from passing out, the energy needed to shift forms usually causing unconsciousness. His vision blurs, and exhaustion drags at him like a heavy lead weight to a man drowning in deep water. He pushes his fist into his side, the pain making him clench his jaw, but otherwise focusing him on the moment and keeping the darkness at bay.

He looks at the arrowhead he'd pulled from his side, and frowns at the silver in it, but nodding after a moment. The metal is complete, not broken or fractured, meaning his wound will heal eventually. Already gray sludge is oozing from the wound, dead virus dumped from the silver, and he wipes the darkened blood from his side as he rises to his feet. He forces himself not to limp, and goes about gathering up the gear and equipment from his enemies, and eating the rations they'd packed, ravenous for food.

Alex purses his lips and looks at the small skiff they are crammed into. He generally doesn't like water, not much for swimming either, but the two Vikings have been useful, in that they can sail and know their way around ports. They'd been able to sneak in and take the former fishing ship with only a small scuffle, the were-cats taking down the guards quick and quiet, the Ragnarsons manning and directing the ship. Now they are a few hours out of the pier, the magic wave receding and now tech holding the world, and the Vikings turn on the outboard motor to give them more speed.

"How long, do you think?" he asks the Vikings.

"If the wind holds, we could be at the canal in a few days, if we're lucky," Floki says with a shake of his head.

"If we don't get hit by a patrol boat somewhere," Jark adds, scanning the darkness with his AK47 held low.

"Better and better," Mitchell mutters from the rear of the boat, next to Floki and with an M14 rifle in his hands.

"I can arrange passage, and if we get caught, we may be able to bribe our way out," Alex says with a frown. "Fight if that doesn't work, and may get us a bigger boat in the process."

"Not US Coast Guard, though," Jark says with a shake of his head.

"They're our own people," Mitchell says with a frown at the young man.

"They're badass, and can call backup, even in magic waves," Floki says with a shake of his head at the rudder. "We'd lose, no matter. We're better off keeping to the coast, try to grab a small yacht or cutter."

"That's the plan, then," Alex says with a nod, the .45 SMG lying in his lap. "Keep your eyes open."

Richard trots along the side of the ridge, bow held to his side, a quiver on one hip, short sword on the other. He has a lashed together pack on his back with blanket, and he wears two others like ponchos, a head opening and tied at the waist with a length of rope from the pack. The double layer of blankets keeps the cold at bay in the high altitude freezing temperature of the mountains, heading north. He is still being hunted, as far as he knows, but he hasn't stopped or checked his trail to find out for sure.

It's been three days, and he's only caught small naps during the day, one of the party he'd killed had a watch with an alarm on it, so during tech waves he's used it to get some rest. It was risky, but he needed it, and so far it's panned out. He's still exhausted, sleep creeping at him, and hunger too, the calories he's managed to intake not enough to both heal himself and keep up the pace he's been setting for himself. Over the last few days, he's covered a lot of ground, though, probably well over a hundred miles, even with avoiding the villages and military outposts of the local governments.

It's with his mind thinking over the possible terrain ahead that he's attacked. The rocks and dirt under his feet shift to sand and sink, and he tries to push and twist as it sucks at his feet. It holds his ankles, though, and the cold wetness clings to him, but his attempt to escape allows the gunshot meant for his head to miss and instead hit the top of his pack. He raises the bow and draws while looking at the edge of the boulder the muzzle flash had come from. The arrow flies true and the fletching tips up and back, stuck in a man's shoulder.

Richard pulls out the short sword and the spool of 550 cord, slipping the noose around the pommel. His feet are sinking, even without struggling, and he critically searches for a place to bury the sword in his hand. He picks a boulder twenty yards away and hurls the sword awkwardly to his right backhanded. The blade bites in near the top, and he tugs at the cord. The blade scrapes and falls out, and he curses, then leans back with the impact of being shot in the chest.

His back hits the ground in a puff of dirt, his legs stuck up nearly to his knees, and he pulls himself upright before the quicksand can grab his chest. Blood leaking down his chest, he jerks the cord attached to the sword to him then overhand, the sword crashing into the bushes where the shooter had relocated to. The shooter rolls away, the blade missing him, but jamming between a pair of large boulders. He tugs and drags himself quickly out of the quicksand, then rolls further to the side as another shot rings out.

The heavy slug hits him in the leg as he rolls away, pain searing his chest and lower extremities. He crawls and shuffles to the side as another slug skips past him, and he shrugs off the pack slowing him down. Tossing his ponchos aside, he plants his hands and pushes himself off to the side to dodge another shot at him, and tumbles down the mountainside. The rocks are sharp, stabbing into his sides, arms, legs and head as he continues to roll and drop, the nearly sheer side of the mountain doing nearly as much damage as the silver bullets that had passed through him.

He finally settles in the valley almost a thousand feet below, a few hundred yards away across. His body is mangled, broken and cut, gray tinged blood seeping from the wounds in his chest and leg. Despite that, he drags himself to an upright position, a smear of blood on the ground and boulder he's using to lever himself. He ducks down as a bullet skips off the boulder, then shuffles forward as quickly as he can, then tosses himself down the next cliff, skipping across a pair of hard rock faces before crashing into the shallow river flowing as whitewater down the mountain pass.

Richard crawls out of the river an indeterminable amount of time later, gasping and struggling to maintain consciousness. His existence has been nothing but a struggle to gasp his next breath while not being wedged between rocks underwater since being shot. His face lies the sun heated rock for a long moment, then he takes a deep breath and pushes himself up to his knees, sitting on his heels. His left thigh is throbbing, his chest feels like it's on fire about four inches below his heart, causing his breath to be short.

He takes stock of himself and his situation. He's slept less than eight hours in the last week, walked a couple hundred miles, been shot numerous times, beaten, shredded by a mountainside, nearly drown, and hunted the entire time. He smiles up at the sun as it peeks through clouds, causing him to squint in the light, the cold water and air at this altitude raising gooseflesh from his steaming body. He starts to laugh at the sky, the sound of his voice echoing up and down the valley, a light chuckle at first until it has become a throaty roar of laughter at the entire world and his situation.

_These motherfuckers want me_, he thinks to himself, smiling as his laugh fades off and looks down at his torn legs. _They think they can break me, that they can run me ragged and kill me in their own sweet time_, he shakes his head in hysterical amusement. _Dumb shits_.

H roars into the valley, a maniacal grin stretched across his face.

The Marshal frowns as he looks at the remains of the second hunting party. The first shooter had taken the arrow in the shoulder, but while he was prone, so the arrow pierced into his lung and he'd died. The other two had shot at the target, but it had still escaped, throwing itself from the cliff. He himself had managed to get to the edge in time to take a shot, as far as it was, but the man had thrown himself down another cliff and disappeared.

It had survived the reservation, ambushed and killed the beating party, and now survived the kill team. The Lord will not be happy, as his son had been prepped to take the kill shot, but instead had nearly been killed by the prey. He slings the heavy hunting rifle over his shoulder and reaches into his vest for his map, starting to look for where the creature will likely wash ashore, assuming it had been caught in the current.

"We'll see if the body deposits downstream," he says to the others, tucking the map away.

"What if it caught on the rocks on the second jump?" the Lord's son asks.

"Then we lost the chance to kill it, and it will take too long to check," he says with a shake of his head. "We'll take the longer way, and check downstream first."

"Are you sure?" the young man asks, adjusting his long, thick hair, braided below his shoulders. "My father paid much for this hunt, I want to kill him, and have the taste of his magic before he passes. I will not miss a taste of primordial magic."

"He was shot at least twice," the lead hunter responds with a shake of his head. "The first missed, but that second shot took him in the lung, with silver. He either bled out or drowned if he survived the fall, since we tagged him a half hour ago."

"We will want – " the son says, but pauses as a maniacal laughter drifts up the valley, reverberating off the rock walls and up to them.

The group pauses and looks around, the deep belly laugh resounding into a roar. For the lead hunter, Miquel, this far from his first hunt, is normally not shaken or scared, having hunted dangerous mythical creatures for a decade now. But even he suppresses a shudder at the sound. He had done his homework, the man they captured was former US Army, and had only been a shapeshifter for less than a year. He should have lost control of his beast in the first couple days, not kept his senses over a week later.

"Excellent," the son says, adjusting his shoulders to shrug off the cold chill the roar had given him. "We resume the hunt, then."

"The price has gone up," Miquel says without preamble. "I have lost a full team of beaters, and my best shot. That roar is a challenge, a declaration of war. I will lose more, before this is over."

"Name the price," the youth says, tossing his hand casually. "But let us get moving, we are losing the light."

Miquel nods, turning to the four others with him, three of these canine shapeshifters, "Hunt him, track him. Run him to ground and bring him back towards us. Sharon, you watch and fly if he makes a move on you. Close with him and cripple him, harry him. Wolf tactics, understood?"

"Yes, boss," the dark eyed leader of the pack says with a nod.

Richard trots up the slope, leaping from one rock to another, pausing as he lands and lowering himself to a squat as he listens to the night. The howl pierces the darkness, closer this time. It had started an hour ago, with the setting of the sun, and it is a normal tactic of wolf packs, to keep their prey scared and running, to keep them off guard until they are ready to strike. This means they are now committing to a full hunt, not ambushing, baiting and leading. They are taking him seriously.

His mouth twitches slightly into the ghost of a smile, hopping over three boulders and onto a cliff side and pulling himself up with one hand and his toes, his other hand holding a three foot long wooden stake, the end roughly hewn to a point. His hard pull on the rock ledge propels him over the lip of the cliff and onto the hard packed dirt beyond, and he scans the ridgeline not far away. He trots again, his breath even and steady as the scent reaches his nose, a werewolf.

He adjusts his direction, his human form low as he deftly and silently ascends the slope. He approaches from downwind, and in short time he can see the low slung form on the closer side of the crest, along a bare animal trail. A pair of scents is in the wind, two males, both hunting and watching for him, but from further downslope and ahead. He doesn't have much patience left, though, and he opens his stride up, then launches himself into the air, the stake raised above him.

His shadow in the moonlight causes the trail wolf to glance upwards just in time to see the wooden stake thrust into its shoulder. He angles it to the side, and shoves it into the werewolf's lungs and heart, his left hand clenching the monster's ear and his legs wrapped around its waist as they roll on the ground. It gurgles and whines in pain as he shoves the stake roughly in again, stirring up the insides violently as the wood shatters and breaks off. The other wolf is on him now, but he has shoved the dying wolf away, rising to his feet and roaring his own challenge at the new wolf.

His body flashes and shifts, and he reaches forward, grabbing the half man warrior form of the werewolf with his own hands. He is in warrior form as well, standing at seven feet tall, thick in the chest and strong half human half cat legs beneath him. His own massive head a large tiger head with a slightly domed head and ears lower than on a cat. He has one humanlike hand with claws on the shoulder of the werewolf, holding the snapping jaws at bay, the other digging into its guts, tearing away the muscles and digging into organs.

His hand coated in intestines, he rips it out and grabs the lower jaw of the werewolf, the sharp teeth digging into the thick pads on his hands. He squeezes, the pain sharp, and wrenches the jaw off the warrior as its claws rip into his sides and upper arms. The wolf gurgles and grasps onto his arm, its legs dropping and giving out as the massive trauma catches up to its brain. Richard takes a breath as the wolf twitches, dying, then reaches down and grabs its knee, then planting a foot on its hip.

He releases its shoulder then slashes at the upper thigh, pulling and twisting the knee as he does. The leg comes off with a sickening pop, and he grabs the thigh bone within, ripping off the muscle and twisting off the knee below the thigh. The werewolf's femur in hand, Richard nods to himself, breathing deep as his body mends the gashes received in the fight. The animal in him wants to rip out the heart and eat it, but his rational mind knows that if he does, the human part of his prey will cause loupism in his own body.

He adjusts his grip on the long femur, then rips off the other from the dead werewolf in the same fashion. He gets it out and turns to the other werewolf, but it is already dead and shifted back to a human form in the moonlight. The two, three foot long bones in hand, he trots up to the ridgeline, pausing just before the crest and glancing around, then running down the western slope, backtracking slightly to the south.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tasha says under her breath as she watches the vehicle in front of her explode and rise up on a black cloud of smoke.

She is in a three vehicle convoy heading to the monthly meeting between the People and the Pack. An agreement to meet on neutral ground and talk over issues between the groups and resolve them before they become conflicts or possible war. The two groups are not the only ones attending, the NeoVikings and the Nation also participating, as all have significant holdings in the city and the power brokers for the region. Pelos attends and brings at least one other Alpha with him, but this time he has brought both her and Noel, and they are all travelling separately.

The tech is up, and she is travelling in a convoy led by Adam and with eight others from the Clan, Pelos in similar arrangements. But that is all taken from her mind as the explosion erupts, the shock wave hitting the windshield of the SUV she is in. She turns and dives into the back of the SUV, ripping the cover off the compartment in the storage area, pulling out the M4 assault rifle and jacking in a magazine then pulling the charging handle. As she does this she hears rounds ping off the armored glass, and the tires pop loudly, blown out.

She turns and crouches on the seat again, then pounces at the shattered window, her shoulder leading. The window bows and she tumbles out of the SUV, and as she does an explosion rocks it, tossing the engine up into the air and flipping the SUV behind her. She stumbles then catches her stride, dashing to the side of the road. She plants a foot on the grill of a parked car on the side of the outskirts of rural Houston, and leaps into the air on a flat arc, lifting her legs by the knees to clear the edge of the building she's aiming for. Her toes miss the ledge by inches, but the M4 is tucked in her shoulder and on full auto as she shifts her legs to slide across the roof as she fires at the four man team turning to her.

The magazine holds sixty rounds of standard hollowpoint, and she is not an expert marksman, but has shapeshifter reflexes and has practiced as required by Richard. She hits the first man in the first twelve rounds, four of the shots hitting him in the upper legs and hips, having purposely aimed low, as Richard reminds his people that there is rarely effective armor there. The man goes down and she is now sliding across the roof, her left hand now lowered and the knuckles of her fingers sliding along the metal roof as she points the rifle one handed at the next man in the group. The next long burst is not as accurate, and she holds the trigger and only three of the next twenty rounds hit the man who has only half turned to her, but he sprawls as the 5.56 round hits his buttocks and hips.

Her left foot has hit the far edge of the roof, and she pushes up and flips over the side of the roof, her left hand grasping the edge to keep her from spinning into the early night. She plants her toes on the roof edge and pauses for a moment, hopping up on her toes and gathering herself, then pulling up with her left hand and clearing the roof to land on the ledge, the rifle tucked into her shoulder again. The two remaining attackers have begun to gather themselves, and she places a short burst in the center of one, then the other. They stumble and she fires at them again, placing rounds into their necks and shoulders from their sprawled forms, the shots fatal.

She hops from the ledge onto the roof proper and jogs to the edge overlooking the convoy, and she scans the area. She recognizes another set of smoke trails on the far side, where the rest of the ambushers are. Her people, Adam and those he's trained, have already moved out of the ambush area and attacked them. As she looks down she can see a few in the wreckage, one still and dead, the other two writhing in pain against the heat injuries made from the explosions.

She looks to the side, where the first one she'd shot is at, movement catching her eye, as the gunfire has affected her hearing. The man is standing and snarling at her, blood dripping from his hips and legs, a shapeshifter. She raises the M4 and fires at him as she closes the distance, and he fires at her with his own drawn handgun. They both hit their targets, her hitting his chest and bulletproof vest, him cutting burning lines across her ribs with the silver bullets.

She shoves the rifle into him as he stumbles back, the muzzle bending at the hard impact on his armored chest. She flips the rifle and swings it at him like a club, and he is knocked to the side by the blow, but not fast enough to stop him from emptying a pair of rounds into her stomach. Tasha gasps as the silver burns her insides, the pain hot and piercing and her vision tunneling onto the man who slid across the roof and slammed into the ledge. She rips open her silk shirt and wraps it around her midsection and ties the sleeves across the wound, covering it with the crudest of bandages as she advances.

The man stands, pulling his vest off to the side and roaring into the night with cackle as he shifts into a Hyena warrior form hybrid, his eyes glowing red. Tasha pulls her saber from her hip, twirling it absently to the side and grasping it in both hands as she closes the last of the distance in a sprint and ducks under the backhand from the eight foot monstrosity. He saber slices upwards, however, cutting up above the monster's knee and slicing off a large chunk of its right thigh before the tip of the blade cuts into and through its abdomen.

Tasha's slide attack takes her to the left and the were-hyena's right, she twists in the practiced movement she has been learning, raises the blade high and chops back and down, cutting into the creature's upraised arm. The blade cuts through the bone with a shudder, but her enhanced strength and speed force it through, and the blade continues on and into its upper shoulder, the last two inches of blade buried in its upper ribcage. Tasha hesitates, the next movement not part of the training kata, but shifts her feet and shoves the blade in while levering it up and into heart and lungs.

The monster cackles in pain as it grips the blade and then absently reaches towards her with his claws. She kicks the arm away, pulling out the blade as she does, then grabs the creature roughly by the arm and throat. She hefts the monster up, shifting her grip and throws it off the roof as it cackles through the pain inflicted by the enchanted blade. It arcs up and then lands hard on the roof of a parked car, blood trailing it from the gushing wounds. It tries to move, weakly, but Tasha has leapt after it, and has thrust her reversed blade down hard into the center of its chest.

Adam reacts quickly, the explosion having tossed the SUV he's riding in up into the air, but not significantly damaging the interior. He had a 9mm SMG across his chest with the stock folded, and tethered to him with a combat sling. When the SUV settles, rounds are pinging off of the doors and windows, and he roars as he jerks on the doorhandle and shoves it off into the night. He practically explodes out of the passenger side of the vehicle, raising the SMG and firing bursts at the silhouettes on the rooftops.

He fires short, three round bursts at each, the high velocity pistol rounds chipping concrete from the ledge of the building. He shifts between targets, not aiming to kill, but to suppress them, keep them from engaging his people. He pauses and drops below the hood of the car he is taking cover behind, pulling out another magazine and reloading, and nearly fumbles it as an explosion rocks the center vehicle. It flips backwards, the RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade), hitting the engine block, and he snarls, that was the SUV with Tasha in it, the primary that he is supposed to guard. Richard and Noel will be pissed.

As he blinks away the dust and smoke from his eyes, he can see a figure running fast from the SUV. Tasha had been wearing an expensive silk pant suit and tie, dressing more man like since she is a solid Alpha, not a drag along mate. The charcoal gray suit is fluttering open in the night, showing the red silk shirt beneath as she steps on the hood of his car and leaps the distance to where the ambushers are, an M4 in her hands. He rises and fires again at the attackers, and they duck under the suppressing fire as Tasha clears the ledge.

He hears gunfire, and turns away from the building, looking to the opposite side, and seeing his people have fired and are starting to advance on the ambushers on that side. He holds his hand to his ear, receiving reports from his men on casualties from the vehicles, though most of his people are moving, even with injuries, and closing on the attackers. He watches as two of his men fire on the site of the ambushers from a two story building down the street as two others leap onto the outer wall and scale to the roof.

He jerks to the side in surprise as the car behind him shudders, a werehyena in warrior form crashing onto the roof and sending glass outward. He raises his arm in automatic reaction, his SMG pointing on reflex, but the hybrid form has landed on its back, and bleeding from its hip and neck. A second later Tasha lands on it, her sword thrusting down into its heart, the blade burying itself to the hilt. She rises up, leaving the blade in place as the bouda twitches weakly as it dies, her jacket gone and her shirt wrapped around her bleeding stomach, her black sports bra also soaked in blood.

Adam lowers the SMG, swallowing on a dry mouth as she draws the blade out of the monster, flicking the blade free of blood as she hops down from the corpse.

"Get the backup team here, now," she says in a growl. "I've been shot three times, through and throughs, but silver, and I need food," she says, pulling away the torn shirt.

"I'll let Noel know we won't make it," he says with a nod, pulling a cell phone from a pocket on his armor.

"No, I just need a jacket," she says with a toss of her head, wiping her blade mostly clean with a relatively dry patch of the shirt. "And a ride to the meet. Someone knew and tipped them off."

Noel sits in the comfortable chair in the large conference room set aside in the upscale restaurant in the downtown of Houston. He sits to the side of Pelos, and they have been eating a light array of food and drinks as they wait for the rest of their group to arrive. He'd received a text message about ten minutes ago that Tasha had been delayed, but would be here shortly, and Pelos had decided to have them wait.

The People sit directly across from them at their own long table, sitting only on one side, seven there with four vampires crouched on the wall and ledges behind them. To the right are the representatives of the Nation, three gray haired men and a woman in suits and ties, their hair braided in twin tails, and the rest young Native American men in modern tactical vests and weapons. To the left on the last table are the Neo Vikings, most of whom wear leather and rough wool clothing, except one, Url Ragnar. Ragnar wears blue jeans and a modern tactical vest, a long tactical knife and sidearm his only weapons as he slouches in his chair, his smirk still firmly in place.

Noel is sipping from his short crystal mug of whiskey when the doors open and the room all glances and then stares at the new arrival, Tasha. She is wearing torn up gray slacks and dress shoes, and a white t-shirt with blood stains on it, some of it still wet. Her saber is on her hip as she walks over to Pelos and bows respectfully to him as he stands.

"Sir, we were ambushed on our way here, RPGs and assault rifles," she says as she straightens, then looks at the entire group assembled. "Eight, all dead. We took no serious casualties."

Pelos smirks, then reaches over and pats her comradely on the shoulder, "I'll excuse the tardiness, then. Shall we begin?"

With that he resumes his seat and she sits as well in her own empty seat at the table, and the group discuss the business of the evening, ignoring the bloodsplattered werelion.

"Not the most subtle, Tasha," Pelos says from within his limo as they drive away from the meeting.

"Sir, there were two shapeshifters with them, one in each of the groups," she says, now that it's just them and Noel in the limo as they drive. "One was a bouda, the other was a canine of some sort, not a wolf or coyote, though."

"Thank you for being subtle enough," he amends with a nod, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs in an aristocratic fashion, then his tone turning contemplative. "Noel, your thoughts?"

"Too complicated and participation of humans means it's not internal," he replies as he rubs his chin. "The Nation has a combination of humans and shifters."

"They weren't Native Americans," Tasha says with a shake of her head. "And their gear doesn't fit Vikings."

"Ragnar's is the only group in the country that has modernized," Pelos agrees. "Iron Dogs?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at the others.

"Could be, uniform gear, it was semi-successful attack," Tasha says with a frown and a shake of her head.

"They failed," Noel say with a nod.

"No," Pelos says with a shake of his head. "Probing attack, to test our reactions, our capabilities, and prepare for the real attack."

"Why Tasha?" Noel asks aloud, looking at her now. "I would have thought you or I would be a better target."

"Richard is the one who pissed them off," Pelos says, then waves at her. "And they would consider the female to be the weaker. If they succeeded, it would look more like an actual attempt than a probe."

"Any word on Richard?" Noel asks, looking at her as well.

"None," she says with a sigh. "Alex and his group acquired a boat not far from where they were dropped, and moved to the Canal. They are pretty sure he's near the west coast of South America, somewhere."

"How long?" Pelos asks, his frown hard but thoughtful.

"No way to know," she says with a sigh, shaking her head. "All I know for certain is that he is alive, and no one has asked for ransom, or claimed responsibility."

"Do you think Alex is right? That poachers took him to hunt?" Pelos asks, his right hand tapping his leg idly.

"It's as good a guess as any," she says as she looks at her hands, rubbing at blood on her knuckles. "We may not even know if we find him."

"He was a Ghost Ranger for years as an unenhanced human," Pelos says with a smirk as he looks at her, his posture confident and easy. "I pity the group that thinks they could hunt him."

"What do you mean, dead and butchered?" Miquel asks the middle-aged woman in front of him.

She is a rare shapeshifter, a were-hawk, and had watched the attack on the wolves by the tiger they were hunting. She had finished the initial report, and had been sputtering towards the end, nearly hysterical as she spoke with her hands.

"He-he," she gasps, looking at her hands, then at him again. "He killed them, and pulled out the leg bones of the one he killed with his hands."

"He killed two with his bare hands?" Miquel asks, being specific.

"No, only the second, after he shifted into a warrior," she says with a shake of her head, fighting to keep control, but her hands shaking. "He was tall, taller than a man, and had thumbs. He took the leg bones in hand and ran over the ridge, to the west."

"We can cross over, try to catch his trail," the Lord's son says, gesturing that way with the heavy rifle.

"This is costing much more than I had prepared for," Miquel says with a hard frown. "The wolves were to carry the carcass and do heavy lifting, they weren't meant to actually hunt."

"Obviously," the youth says with a snort of derision.

Miquel scowls but says nothing. Any shapeshifter that is capable of killing a pair of werewolves in less than a minute is not something he is eager to go after unprepared.

"I need to make some calls," he says instead, and pulls out the satellite phone from his pocket, glad that the tech is up.

He dials his contacts closer to the coast. They had started the hunt in the southern jungles of Colombia, and have moved steadily west and south. There is no help for the shapeshifter in the villages or towns, but he does, as this land all belongs to his boss, the Warlord in control of this part of country. And with the unsuccessful hunt pushed aside, no one can be allowed to kill this many of his employees without being held accounted for. This shapeshifter must die, there can be no other way.

"How far?" Jark complains from his seat at the wheel, steering the small yacht they had commandeered after passing through the Panama Canal.

The yacht had belonged to a rich man who had bad tastes. Specifically, a human slave trafficker that had two women locked up below, as well as about ten kilos of cocaine and other sundries, to include a good deal of cash. Alex initially felt guilty about approaching the larger ship, but his conscious has been salved in that they rid the world of a very wicked man.

"Patience, patience," Atticus says softly as he concentrates on the wooden bowl in front of him.

The magic engines are running, the tech down and with it the diesel engines, and the were-lynx is making marks on a note pad as he checks their location against the azimuth on the compass. He hands the notes to Alex, who takes the numbers and plots it on the larger map of the region. A few moments later, he leans back and frowns hard.

"Southern Colombia, if he hasn't moved too much," Alex says with a frown.

"So let's go get him," Floki says with a nod, looking at the map with the older man.

"I doubt he just needs a lift," Mitchell says with a scowl at the young Viking. "He didn't leave voluntarily and he hasn't called, probably because he can't. The government is likely involved, they're all corrupt as hell down here, because of the drugs."

"I speak Portuguese, too," Hermano says gesturing at the map. "We can get to a dock, see what we can find out. Use the drugs and cash from on board for bribes."

"That looks like the best plan," Alex agrees, tapping the map. "Let's get off the coast to where we think he is, then get into a coastal village, see what we can get."

"This sucks," Jark complains. "Why did father say we had to come?"

"It is more than we would have seen or done had we stayed in the village," Floki says with a frown at his slightly older half-brother. "Quit your bitching."

Richard squats and looks down into the open mouth of the valley below him. It's been another three days since he'd attacked and killed the two werewolves. He has been running cross country since, staying in his warrior form for over a day before he had lost focus and shifted to full animal form. He'd caught some rams on the way, eaten the meat raw, and stripped out their hides to use as shitty leather thongs. Their horned skulls now dangle across his bare shoulders, a crappy loincloth covering his privates.

Nestled in the valley is a village, a good size with probably over ten thousand in it all told. Dirt farmers of one type or another, a shanty town of corrugated metal. But up on the shoulder, overlooking the town is an enclosed estate, and he studies it with a critical eye in the early morning light. There's a collection of men in uniform, green fatigues, old Russian surplus equipment for the tech side, AK47s, machine guns, trucks but no tanks. On the magic side, he's seen spears, swords and axes, but shitty armor, though he knows they have decent magic here.

Mentally he nods at the assessment of the forces below. They are on alert, traveling in groups, and patrolling the streets. They expect trouble, and he'd put money on them knowing he's coming. The ones who brought him here, they've bitten off more than they can chew. He was supposed to die days ago, not have turned on his pursuers and crossed the mountains. He's still not sure who they are, but the government is crooked as a question mark here, so they won't help, and he has no idea where any US assets are, if there are any.

With the prospect of escape here, though, in the form of the coast and ships, he can now think on what his people have been doing to find him. There's magic to search, but he has no idea the requirements or answers they'd get, but they would know if he's alive and which direction he'd be in, if he recalls right. Given the choice, the Pack may or not seek him out, as he was sloppy enough to get caught, and same for the Clan. But Tasha… his mind stills at the thought. He loves her, she tells him the same, and he knows he would burn their enemies' houses down with them in it to get her back if she were gone. He thinks she would do the same, but how, in this situation?

He shakes the thought aside, the complicated thinking almost causing him to drift off, the exhaustion pulling at him hard. He physically shakes his head, clearing it, and deciding on his plan. He'll stalk the compound, then clear it of soldiers and anyone who seems crooked. From there, he'll go to the docks and take a boat, then head up the coast and Panama.

"Miquel, are you quite certain this is necessary?" the Lord asks from the balcony of his estate, looking down at the harbor below.

"I did not have the full dossier, sir," the hunter replies, attempting to keep his nervousness in check. "Had I known his full background, I would have advised against him as a target."

"A soldier, yes?" the lord says with a shrug of his shoulders. He wears a white shirt and a red scarf on his neck, khakis and sandals. His hair is gray at the temples and his face is lined, his moustache thick, though in the morning light.

"Not any soldier, sir," Miquel says with a shake of his head. "He is like the special soldiers the Americans send against us, the ones who fight us in our own jungles."

"They do not tolerate animals in their elite services, Miquel, we both know this," the Lord chides his man, turning from the setting sun.

"He was not an animal then, he was a man," Miquel says, glancing at the file in his hands. "He became a shapeshifter after, and has risen quickly among them. He is unusual."

"He cannot approach during the tech," the lord says with a wave. "Our soldiers have guns and mines he cannot penetrate, and during the magic, the wards protect us."

He waves at the walls as he says this last, and as if to accentuate his point, the tech wave that had been ruling the daytime crashes and magic rules the world once more. The lord smiles and gestures again with his lit cigar at the translucent blue walls surrounding the compound, but stops when a ringing sound comes from the courtyard.

"There is an intruder on the grounds," Miquel says as he drops the file on the desk nearby and reaches for his curved sword on his hip.

The ringing is not too loud, and Miquel looks out the window to the wards, but tenses as he sees that the men on the walls are still, unmoving. He has already penetrated the manor, and killed the guards. He turns to the door to the study as a man silhouettes himself in the light of the fey lanterns. Miquel places himself between the lord and the warded door, his sword out.

The man they had stolen from America looks at the gold tinged ward and thrusts forward with the long bone he holds in his hand. The end of the femur touches the ward, and he pushes. The ward shimmers, bends, then breaks, shattering the bone in the process and the man staggers, but remains upright in the doorway.

Miquel swears, then attacks. The man uses the remaining femur like a club, parrying the swing to the side, then shoving him away. The hunter is fast, though, and manages a glancing blow, slicing open the man's arm. The man retracts to the side of the room, and the lord moves to the balcony, away from the combatants.

"You should never have taken me," the man says in English.

"It is too late to change that, and you cannot be allowed to leave," Miquel replies, blood on his blade.

The man smirks, "Allowed?"

He flicks his wrist and mutters under his breath, and the femur shimmers with red light, a low flame engulfing it. Miquel frowns, unsure what just happened, and the man touches the bone to the desk, setting it aflame. He swings the bone around and ignites the tapestry nearby, then the painting and now the room is starting to blaze.

"Stop!" Miquel shouts, attacking as he realizes the man means to burn the house down.

The man parries the attack and runs to the window and balcony, swatting the lord backhanded as he does. The older man cries out as he stumbles to the side, his shirt catching fire. Miquel starts to chase the man, but the lord calls to him and he stops. Torn between duty and finding the man, he tends to his lord, the shapeshifter disappearing into the night.

As the dawn creeps on the eastern horizon, Floki sits cross legged on the bow of the ship, his rifle in hand as the magic crashed during the night. Against the majestically colored sky of a hundred hues of gold, orange, purple and blue, a plume of smoke is rising from the hillside, just out of sight from where they are. He had seen the flashing light of the pier, and as they cruise forward, he can see a boat closer than that, rowing into the ocean, up the coast.

"There's a boat, coming this way," he calls out, and the small crew is all awake and moving almost instantly.

Alex is now on the top of the flying bridge, ten feet higher than the others, looking through a pair of binoculars to see the other boat better.

"Fishing boat, small single sail, and one man, rowing," he says. "Bare-chested and facing away from us. Bring us alongside, let's ask him about the village."

Ten minutes later, they pull alongside the small boat and stare at Richard, who is now just standing and waiting on the bench seat. He's thinner, has a scraggly unkempt beard and hair, and a rawhide loincloth on with a bone club in hand. Without a word he jumps onto their boat and points to the north.

"Home," he says simply, and the group says nothing as they turn the yacht around and head back towards Houston.

Alex stands on the back of the yacht nervously, glancing over his shoulder at where Richard is sitting in the bow of the boat, shaving his face carefully against the swells. He punches the send button and puts the satellite phone to his ear as it rings. Three rings later, it picks up.

"Clan Cat house, Adam speaking," a familiar voice says, and Alex sighs in relief that he doesn't have to speak with Tasha.

"Adam, it's Alex," he says, glancing over his shoulder again. "We found him, off the coast of Columbia. I don't know the details from his end, but we've got a yacht, and we're heading back north."

"Is he okay?" Adam asks, and Alex glances over his shoulder again.

"More or less," he says nervously. "He hasn't said much, but he isn't loup. We'll call again when we get to a landline with the tech up. But we have him, and we're heading home."

He hangs up the phone, the cost of that short call immense, because the remaining satellites are rare and expensive to rent for a call, and the angles don't work all the time to be able to get a signal. He circles the boat and arrives at the bow as Richard finishes scraping his face clean, setting the razorblade aside.

"Are they updated?" he asks, glancing at Alex.

"Yes, sir," Alex says with a nod. "I'm surprised you didn't want to call."

"Too much to say, not enough time," he says with a shake of his head. "And I need to order shit upstairs before I can talk."

"I understand, sir," Alex says with a nod.

"No, you don't," he replies gruffly, shaking his head. "But thanks for pretending you do."

Alex nods awkwardly, unsure what else to say as they continue to sail northward.

Tasha throws her leg over the saddle of her horse and hops to the ground, walking and leading it to the barn. She had been busy preparing to take over from Nita, and then busier when it turned out that creating the Clan would be called for. She had accepted that it would be hard, challenging, but she'd always thought Richard would be here, a rock to lean on. Instead, he'd been snatched away, taken from her, and she had to shoulder the responsibilities of the Clan without him. The difficulties have been mounting, and it's starting to wear her down.

Handing off the horse to one of the Clan's young, teenage employees, she turns to the house, and pauses as she finds Danny sitting on the back picnic table. He's cutting an apple with a knife, and she frowns at the scene, noticing that he has his kids with him, and a few others that supported him before. Her mind races, and she realizes that he's been waiting for this, a chance and a real opportunity to take over, to be the Alpha again.

"Evenin', darlin'," he says in a drawl, standing up and idly twirling the Clan's challenge knife in his hand. "I thought I'd come by, see if we could talk."

She takes a breath to control her anger, but it remains, and right now she doesn't care. She shrugs out of the leather duster she had been wearing, then unbuckles the belt that holds her sword, tossing them both to the side, then pulling out her own knife.

"You are being disrespectful, Danny," Tasha growls, looking at him with lowered brows.

"Well, the Alpha slot is open, far as I can tell," he says with a drawl, holding the knife in front of him dramatically. "And I think it's time for the return of the king."

Tasha laughs derisively as others from the Clan gather round, then eases her laugh to a chuckle as she looks solidly at him, "Firstly, you damn sure never read that book. But more importantly, Richard is alive, and he's coming back. And _he_ is the king of this clan, and I am the queen."

"You're an uppity bitch that only got where she is from sleeping around," he says with a growl, his cockiness being replaced with anger, standing from the table now. "I should be Alpha, not him, or you."

"To hell with talking, then," she says with a growl. "You're a bully, an asshole, and a sick fuck to boot. Richard should have killed you instead of showing mercy. Your bitchy, cowardly momma is the only reason he didn't finish the job."

Danny snarls at her for that, "I was gonna just gut you. But now, I think I'll break you, keep you around for a while."

"Will, see that no one interferes, this is a challenge for leadership of the Clan," Tasha says absently, striding forward, twirling the knife in idle circles to her side. The magic is down, so she can't use her own magic, combat wards and other enhancements and charms. He's bigger, stronger, and fast, but she's faster, and Richard has been training her for months now. Not to mention she's a pissed off lioness with some rage to get out.

His blade licks out and she sways to the side, cutting low with her own blade and drawing blood along his right shin. He spins around and pounces at her, and she rolls to the side, her blade licking out as he swings during his dive. They both connect, and she rises with a cut up her leather vest, him with a hole in his upper arm. The others at the compound have formed a circle and watch, regardless of which side they had been on, now keeping each other at bay to let the two compete without interference.

Tasha stays low, two or three points of contact on the ground and dragging her toes and fingers across the ground as she moves. When she had started training with Richard months ago, she had loved to get the high ground, to attack from above and the flourishes she saw in other fighters. He had taught her that strength doesn't come from above, flying through the air, but from below, pushing from the ground. It had taken her, and many others, a lot of training to realize that they could control the fight and their opponents if they kept close to the ground, and were not tempted to jump dramatically.

Blood arcs out from the two as they circle and strike, both with blades dancing. Initially, it looks like Danny is winning, having scored more strikes, but within a pair of minutes, it is obvious that Tasha's strikes have been deeper, aimed at joints and nerve clusters. Danny stumbles and rolls to the side after she lands a cut across his sciatic nerve, paralyzing his left leg. Tasha follows, but to the side, and when he rises to meet the expected pounce and leap, he meets nothing but air, and she darts in again, cutting the Achilles tendon on his right leg.

She prowls around him, her knife held before her, as she watches him struggle to his knees, gasping and bleeding from a dozen cuts. Blood oozes from more shallow cuts on her own arms and legs, one across her belly, but she pays them no mind as she stops in front of him, her eyes locked on his.

"Richard was specific, when I asked him what we should do about you, if you ever stepped out of line," Tasha says in a near growl, her glacially blue eyes piercing into him from a few yards away. "He said that if we had to kill you, to take our time, but if we could cripple you –."

She darts in and dodges his attempt to attack her, slicing across his wrist, his knife falling from severed tendons into the crowd. She continues with the combo, slicing across his thigh and around, removing the meat from the bone and joint. He roars but she dodges the backhand, her own anger and rage of the last week boiling over, and she punches him viciously in the jaw, knocking him unconscious while breaking his jaw.

She holds her knife over his limp form, neck exposed to her blade, and she breathes deep for a few long seconds before standing straight and walking away, turning her back on her opponent.

"WILL!" she yells, and the young were-leopard approaches from where he and the other guards at the compound have kept the nearly one hundred shapeshifters present in order and back from the fight.

"Yes, Alpha," he says with a nod of respect, the M4 in his hands at the ready and pointing down.

"String him up, on the mast out front," she says, pointing at where the Viking ship is at out front. "And let this be a lesson to ALL!" she shouts at the group, turning and facing the assembled shapeshifters of Clan Cat.

"We are patient, and kind, but even we have limits. Do not test us. You will lose," she roars at them all, and they all bow their heads and kneel, out of respect and submission. "I am your Alpha, as much as Richard Michaels! Does anyone else challenge me!?"

She breathes hard, her rage clouding her vision as she looks around at her Clan, and roars, "Is there anyone else?!"

Silence stretches, and she glares around at the crowd, searching for any upturned or challenging looks, but finds none. She turns from the small circle she stands in the center of and walks to the back door of the house, and Adam is there, phone held to his side.

"Alpha, Alex just called from the Satphone," he says in a solid tone, not hushed and heard by many in the nearby crowd. "They have met up with Richard Michaels, and are on their way home."

She takes a deep breath and nods once, "Good."

She continues to stride up the deck and into the house, "Call the Pack Lord, and let him know, I will clean up and hear petitions in an hour."

"Yes, alpha," Adam says with a nod as she closes the door behind her, and she pauses in her kitchen to take a breath behind closed doors.

_God that was hard_, she says internally, peeling off her vest, then her shirt. She strips to nothing while on the tile in the kitchen, and glances as Nita enters from the front rooms. The other were-lion had been a problem before, but since being cowed, has fallen into line and proven quite useful, especially around the house.

"Good fight, Tasha," she says with a nod as she pulls out a bucket from the closet to put the bloody and torn clothes into. "Your striking is getting more accurate, it's much better than when you beat me."

"Thank you, Nita," she says with a sigh as she peels off her jeans. "I'm going to take a shower, then need to eat before the petitions."

"I'll have some pulled pork ready," Nita says, accepting the jeans. "Also, Natalie Rushman called from the Order. She has info on the canines, and on the wandering cat, she said."

"Hmm, I wonder what," Tasha says absently, striding to the master bedroom and bath to clean up, and curious if the Order has new information or just the same that Alex had called with.

Thirty minutes later she's clean and refreshed, and hangs up the phone from having a short but productive conversation with Rushman. Adam comes in a moment later from where she'd had him called.

"We need to talk to Danny and his kids," she says without preamble. "I have it on good authority that they were likely complicit on Richard's disappearance. If they would sell him out, there's not much off the table that they wouldn't do to the Clan, or the Pack."

Adam's face goes hard at the news, and he nods in understanding, "I will take care of it."

"Adam," Tasha says as he starts to turn from her, and she takes a breath to keep her calm, thinking of Richard and what he would do, say.

"Adam, I don't want to make other enemies, not within our own family, especially," she says softly, but firmly for that. "Keep the kids confined here until I know the truth, and I will speak to Danny first, then decide from there what to do. We will not witch hunt. Do you understand?"

Adam frowns hard, staring at the ground, then nods, "I understand what you want, but I don't know how."

"That's why I am here," she says with soothing tone, suddenly feeling very old. "Have his kids brought to the barn, tell them I want to talk to them, that's all. Don't tell those guarding what it's about, then they won't cause problems. I'll take Will and go talk to Danny."

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a nod of understanding and leaves.

Tasha watches him go, and wonders at how she is now the parent figure for an entire Clan of were-cats. She takes a centering breath, taking a sip of her tea, then rises from the table, feeling at more at ease knowing that Richard is okay and on his way home.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Richard growls, looking at the four boats approaching them from the northern coast of Colombia.

"We didn't exactly pay for the boat," Jark admits from behind him and to the side, rifle at the ready. "And the previous owner was not a good guy."

"You paid the blood price," Richard growls, feeling immensely better for having slept for six hours. "And I don't give a fuck about drug dealers or revolutionaries. Alex?"

"Sir, we're still a day out from the Canal, straight line," he says without prompting, rubbing his shaggy hair. "And it looks like we have a ship following from where you came from."

"Turn to land," Richard orders over his shoulder at Floki, on the wheel. "We can't beat them in the open sea, so we'll do it on land, walk to the canal if we have to."

"Mr. Michaels, are you being serious right now?" Jark asks after a pause, his tone confused. "You want us to walk back to Houston?"

"Maybe not the whole way," he says with a shrug, then turns to the young Viking. "I was only a bit older than you when I went to Ranger School and had to walk across the mountains with nothing but an empty pack and a knife. And remember, I was human."

Jark stands straighter at the implied dare, and he adjusts his weapons and equipment nervously. Richard smirks and turns to Floki.

"Full speed, get us to land before they can get us," he orders, then picks up the duffle bag set aside for him.

He opens it and pulls on his weapons and equipment. He starts with cargo pocket denim pants, boots, then shirt and armored tactical vest. He adds on greaves, shinguards, bracers and tucks his gloves in a vest pocket. He then straps on his weapons belt, pistol, sword, axe and short blades on it. He pulls the unstrung bow and quiver out, strapping it across his back, then the M4 rifle inside, a 60 round magazine in it with two others on his vest.

He checks the sit of the gear and armor, and once satisfied, he checks that there's a round in the chamber. He takes a breath and enjoys the breeze in his face for a moment, glancing at the others as they go. He's still tired, not up to full strength, but the sleep had been nice, as had the MREs they had brought along, so he's not hungry and exhausted. Plus he has sword and axe on his hips, a rifle in hand, his people watching his back, and Tasha knows he's okay. Not a horrible day, anyway.

Miquel frowns as he rides in the bow of the boat, scanning the distance and the prey he has been hunting for weeks now. His lord had been injured but not killed by the burning house and destruction of the village. They had reported to the man next up the chain of the Oligarchy, and the man in charge had been furious. Miquel had been ordered to kill the lord, and pursue the escaped shapeshifter. The good thing is that he has the full dossier, the details on his prey, and more resources.

Before he had piled on, thinking he was tackling a housecat, but it was a tiger. But now, knowing what he is dealing with, he intends to bring overwhelming force from the start, and crack the nut hard. The time for subtleties and maneuver is nearly done, the yacht Michaels had escaped in has been tracked and is going to ground in a village near the junction of the continent and the isthmus.

"The prey has gone to ground ahead, fifty miles," a man says from behind him, having exited the wheelhouse.

"This man is cunning prey, a predator in his own right," he says loudly over the engines and wind, turning to his hand-picked group of hunters with him. "Do not think of him as another mark, or an animal. This man hunted lycanthropes, vampires, and things from myth and legend from across four continents for the US Army for over a decade."

A couple of the men twist their mouths in derision, and he barks harshly at them, "He did all that as a lowly human with no magic. He accomplished more than any of you with less than what you are working with now. This man is a predator among a field of monsters."

"How much is the bounty?" a thin, athletic woman says from the back, her limbs corded with muscle and her hair peppered with gray streaks.

Miquel looks around, the ten hunters with him among the best in all of Columbia, "One million dollars, American. Double if he is captured."

The group of hunters look back and forth, nodding and eager to earn the money, to have the favor of the warlord, and another trophy. The woman in the back frowns harder, though, looking as though she bit a lemon, and she speaks up again, over the assembled men.

"This man, what is his name?" she asks, rubbing her chin in thought. "And his unit, what unit was he with, in the US Army?"

Miquel frowns at the woman, not wanting to tell them all too much, but he is called out now, and must.

"His name is Richard Michaels, and he was with the Rangers," Miquel says, and the group of hunters somber up at the announcement.

After a long awkward pause, an older hunter in the front speaks up, after glancing at the others, "You said he is now with others. He is not alone? You want us to attack them all?"

"You were eager a moment ago, with the prospect of the great bounty and reward from the boss," Miquel says to him, spreading his gaze around at the group.

"Can't spend money if you are dead, chico," the woman in the back says, spitting to the side and making a sign to ward off evil. "I will stay in the boat. I will not hunt one of the American's Rangers. Not if he is a shapeshifter, too."

"Too rich for my blood, as well," the old hunter says with a shake of his head.

"Jefe won't like that, you know," Miquel says with a frown and shake of his head.

"Jefe isn't here, looking at that," he says, gesturing up the coast where they are getting radio chatter on the landing and fighting beginning.

"We will move up to the landing area," Miquel says, his tone not accepting any argument, and they continue up the coast.

Richard drops the magazine from his rifle as he crouches behind the pile of tires near the dock, running in a crouch. He can hear the steady firing from his group of people, Floki with his M14 and Atticus with a wood stock, bolt action .308 firing slowly and methodically. The others firing controlled bursts or quick pairs at moving targets as they move up the docks towards where they are in the village.

The fishing village is not large, a couple thousand, at best, and have holed up for the duration of the battle taking place on their dockside of town. Enforcers, ordered here by the local boss, had tried to contest their landing, but Richard had swum ahead and kept the machine gun they had from engaging their yacht. Unfortunately, they had destroyed it before he could capture it and use it on his pursuers, so now they are maneuvering and fighting in the narrow streets and warehouses near the docks.

Now, twenty minutes into the fight, the swarm of men that had pursued them and tried to push them off the docks has dwindled. He is glad, as he's on his last magazine, and the rest of his people are close to the same. He's scanning the distance, and hears a shout out, then a yell for a medic.

He is up and sprinting down the street, his moving silhouette drawing fire as he runs. He hops over a barrier and then slides next to where Mitchell is lying on the ground, a gunshot wound in his upper chest. Richard rises over the cover of a barrel and a crate, firing at the three men fifty yards away. The first sprawls back in a splash of red, and Richard ignores the rounds snapping past him, shifting his aim and hitting the second.

The third ducks down, Richard's bullets peppering the cover. Richard is up and running down the street, hurtling over the cover and onto the man behind it. His combat knife is out in a flash and he cuts the man's thigh to the bone in a flash of red. He turns and looks around, noting the lack of gunfire, it seems the battle is over. He is up and running back to Mitchell quickly.

Mitchell is trying to stop the bleeding in his chest, and Richard kneels next to him to help. He pulls out the bandage from the pack, then applies the inner clean portion to the hole in his chest he is bubbling from. Mitchell takes a deeper, full breath, but still winces in pain, looking down at the black tinged blood leaking from him.

"Silver rounds," Richard says with a frown. "Probably only coated, though. This is going to hurt."

Mitchell grunts and turns his head to the side as Richard pulls out his roll of instruments, surgical tools. He's not an expert, but with a shapeshifter, he needs to dig out the round, but without letting him bleed out. He checks the exit wound, but finds none, meaning the bullet is still lodged in him. He goes about cutting the damaged flesh, the parts infected with silver, and, working to not cut too many arteries and veins to keep bleeding down.

He is partly successful, and soon has the bullet worked out, and then closes and pushes the wound back together. Mitchell is unconscious, but breathing weakly, and Richard nods to himself, looking around now and noting that the others are gathered around, providing security and protection.

"Will he make it?" Atticus asks, the leather strap of his rifle over his shoulder.

"There may be fragments in the wound, if they are silver, it will hamper his healing, that is what we will look for," he says, wiping his tools down and storing them. "How many are left?" he asks.

"Only a few, and they ran off," Jark says with a smirk, his AK tucked in his shoulder, scanning their surroundings. "Father was right, this was a good quest."

"We aren't done, yet," Richard says with shake of his head. "Get him moved to the boat, let's get moving again. I don't want to be caught in the open when the next group hits. I'd like to hit the Canal, and soon."

Miquel sits on the wheelhouse, his binoculars held as steady as he can with the swells around him. It looks like the ships from the north are burning, and now the yacht is pulling away from the shore. The others with him see it as well, and he lowers the optics with a frown and a sigh. They will not hunt with him, they are afraid, and if he were completely honest with himself, so is he.

"I think we may have finally broken their resolve," Richard says from the back deck of the yacht as they ride north, the magic engines rumbling beneath.

"You think that was a group of hunters, from the village?" Alex asks, gesturing at the boat in the distance, turning away from them.

"Everyone has a price, and if it is money, that warlord was going to pay it," Richard says with a nod. "But the best hunters probably realized that you can't spend money if you're dead."

"Satphone took a bullet during the fight," Alex says, holding up the shattered plastic and electronic in his hand.

"They knew I made it to you, they'll be expecting us," he says, rubbing his neck. "But so will the bad guys, such as they are. I think they will expect us at the Canal, we can't go there."

"So what's the plan?" Alex says, glancing at Floki at his side.

"We go further up the coast, land in Mexico, then go across land to Texas, and home," he says, gesturing northward. "They won't expect that, they would figure us to either go for the canal or all the way north into California."

"That's still going to take a while," Alex says with a scowl. "And we'll have to get transportation."

"You said there was money in the yacht," Richard says thoughtfully. "How much?"

Tasha sits at the Council of Alphas, her mind focused on the task at hand as they discuss the attacks on the Pack.

"That's the third attack in ten days," Thomas Domasca says. "Jackal's was a joke, Cat took only minor injuries, but we lost three of our best security people."

"If they were so good, they wouldn't have died," Noel says in his characteristic landslide voice. "But that is beside the point, we are being attacked. The real questions are by who, and why?"

"We know who," Pelos says with a thoughtful frown. "And I think we know where this is heading, a war."

"The real question, then, is when?" Tasha says, taking up the train of thought. "They started when Richard was taken, almost immediately. And the information I got from Danny before he died points to them engineering issues within our own ranks."

She looks around at the surrounding Clan leaders, daring them to make an accusation against her or to make a comment. Her win over Danny had spread like wildfire, as had her actions in the ambush against her people in the convoy. The treatment of him afterwards, nailed and left to die slowly on the crossbeams of the grounded Viking ship a mark of the lengths she will take in the Clan against those who would harm her people.

"We have all experienced internal strife greater than normal," Mr Jay says after a moment, nodding at all the gathered Alphas. "We all thought it just ripples of the reorganization with Clan Cat, but it now looks to be much deeper, and nefarious, in origin."

"The Order of the Iron Dogs has decided to move against us," Pelos says soundly, looking around at the others. "So far, we have been defensive in our actions. I want that to change. Suggestions?"

"We track the money," Mr Jay says with a rub of his chin. "The mercenaries hired to attack Tasha and Clan Wolf were both from outside the city, but someone hired them. I will investigate that angle, if we can run to ground who, we can follow up, put pressure on them, and continue up the chain."

"We know who the Dogs work for," Thomas says with a growl, leaning forward and blue flashing in his eyes. "We should attack the People, they are associated with them on the highest level."

"That's stupid," Noel says with a shake of his head. "The People are related, but far from friendly with the Dogs, if our intel is right on their organization. All we will do is piss of the necromancers, and get a new front to fight the war on."

"There is another option," Tasha says, leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees and looking at the other Alphas from under her lowered eyebrows.

She is wearing a brown leather trench coat, a leather vest and t-shirt. She has been wearing her hair in braids along her head, finger thick on the sides and the top pulled to the back into three thick ropes. The style is easier to deal with fighting and with the actions since Richard's disappearance, it has made sense to keep it as a daily thing rather than taking time to fiddle with it.

"The Order of Merciful Aid hates the Dogs, and his master," she says, glancing around at the others. "They don't like us, but we are the lesser of two evils, to them. They are not ready to declare all-out war on him, but they may take the chance to take a hit at his people."

"We don't exactly have a great relationship with them," Noel says with a scowl.

"Richard has been having me liaise with them," Tasha says with a frown. "I have a working relationship with a few of them. It's professional, and it's a start."

"I can lend some weight to that, I think," Pelos says with a nod, agreeing with her idea. "Jackal will pursue the money, see where that leads. I will work with Tasha and Cat to develop other leads, as possible, with other organizations. In the meantime, we all step up our security and be vigilant. An attack could come at any time."

The alphas all nod, and Noel looks to Tasha and speaks first.

"What news is there of Richard?" he asks.

"None, since the call from Alex," she says, leaning back, showing ease despite her inner tension. "We called the number when the tech returned, but it was down, the number or phone is broken."

"Any spell, or scrying?" Mrs Domasca asks, her long fingers rubbing her chair arm slowly.

"He is alive, and to the southwest," Tasha says with a shrug. "That is all we know."

"That is all we need to know," Pelos says solidly and looks around the room. "He did not earn his place among the humans or us by being weak and easily manipulated," he says with a chuckle. "He will find his way home, I only hope he does so in time for whenever our enemies decide to reveal themselves."

Richard looks out at the ocean, standing on the shore not far from where their purchased horses are. They had cut the open ocean, avoiding the patrols on their expected route, and landed in Acapulco de Juarez, south of Mexico City. Hermano has been hopping around the town, acquiring basic equipment, mostly arrows and ammo, and three horses. Now he's practically giving away the yacht after they've cleared it out of anything of value.

"Four days, now," Alex says with a look to the north. "Do you think they'll send out another party to search for us?"

"I wouldn't," he says with a shake of his head. "As it stands, I'm not sure you leaving was a good idea. Hoffman's is going to take a hit while we're both gone."

"Ms Nash wanted someone she knew she could trust," he says, shrugging. "And we've set up the foundation for the company well, as long as no big decisions come along while we're gone, they can handle the basics."

"I just hope we get there before the next Iron Dog attack," Richard says truthfully, rubbing the beard on his cheeks and face.

"If they were involved in your kidnapping, they probably didn't wait long," Alex says with a sigh, rubbing his own neck. "The Clan is as ready as it could be, given the time you had. And the other clans have been getting in on the organizing."

"I've thought on that," he says with a nod of his own as they turn to the horses, loading one with gear and the other two saddled for the humans to ride. "It's why I'm glad you guys showed up, and why I'm not taking chances on getting back. I'd rather fight through Panama, but it'll be faster to take the back roads and indirect approach."

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of this as an option," Alex admits as they finish testing the straps on the horse, then adjust the thin cotton ponchos they wear over their gear. "I feel like an illegal immigrant."

"It's unconventional, and why I think it will work," Richard says with a chuckle, pulling the cowboy hat on his head. "We'll still run into trouble, but not as bad as the other way."

"This is not what I expected when father said we'd go on a quest," Jark says, mounting up on the horse.

"Father says that the quest leads you, you do not decide where the quest will go," Floki says with a smirk at his slightly older brother. "This is the will of the gods, brother. And to be honest, I'm having fun so far. You?"

"Loads of fun," Jark says with a smile, pulling out his tactical tomahawk and twisting it around with a flourish. "We've got money and booty, defeated our enemies, and the prospect of more ahead, if my guess is right."

"It will not be easy, that is for sure," Richard says as they start to head out, Hermano having returned, tucking a wad of cash into the saddlebags of the horse meant just for equipment.

Tasha sits on the edge of the roof of the barn, a bottle of wine in hand, looking at the setting sun. Richard had written and standardized procedures and protocols for an all-out attack on the Clan or Pack. With him gone, and the attacks across the Pack, she had instituted it for the Clan days ago, the Pack slowly doing likewise. So now nearly all the shapeshifters are either at Richard's battlements, Noel's castle nearby, or back at the Mansion.

Tasha had been surprised at how many from Clan Jackal and Clan Wolf had asked for sanctuary with Clan Cat's battlements. As she thinks on it more, she knows she's going to have to come up with a better name, probably the Fort, or something like it. She takes a deep pull of the red wine, a sweet summer, drinking straight from the bottle, not bothering with a glass. A hundred thousand problems, it seems like, and Richard still isn't here.

She takes a breath, the night cool in the late fall, and her breath steams out in front of her as she watches the myriad colors on the horizon. She'd reviewed every case personally at first, but there had been too many, and she had too many duties as Alpha to keep up. The others of her Pride have been stepping up, though, Nita keeping the house and barn in order, dealing with the little things she has no interest in keeping up on, and ensuring everyone is fed and has a place to sleep. Misha, their black haired female were-lion had taken to the security portions, not as an expert, but she's learning and trying to help. Tasha trusts her and with the help of Will and Adam, they have been advising her on the security.

Being on lockdown puts everyone inside the barricades, with guards on the walls and still plenty of hands left over. Initially, she had been unsure what to do with all the extra hands, but as with most of her recent problems, she'd asked herself what Richard would do. The answer became clear, then, and they had continued work on the interior of the fort, and everyone capable of training are doing so. Adam and Will had stared at her in astonishment when she'd told them what to do, but once the shock wore off, they made up the schedules and made it happen.

She looks around in the gathering gloom as she swirls the wine in the bottle, thinking. Richard had been in Columbia, escaped on his own and made it to sea, linking up with Alex and his group. She had been worried at first, but after the report that he'd escaped on his own, now she's only worried that he'll be here soon. She has no idea when she'll hear from him again, phone connections work locally, but calling more than a couple states away is intermittent, even the expensive Satphones.

Knowing he'll be okay is different than how she feels, though. He'd disappeared, and though unintentional, it had felt like abandonment, and she misses him dearly, yearns for him. She takes another long swallow of wine, clenching her jaw to keep the tears at bay. She doesn't know when he will be back, and all this responsibility on her shoulders is almost more than she can bear, certainly more than she had ever wanted or expected. The back door opens, and she turns to look, then Misha walks out onto the porch, phone in hand.

Tasha starts to stand, but the other were-lion has vaulted onto the picnic table and then onto the shed beside the barn. She jumps up onto the roof proper, and strides the last few steps to Tasha, handing the phone over. Tasha takes it, bracing herself for more bad news, as that seems to be all she's been getting lately.

"This is Tasha Nash," she says simply, resting her elbows on her knees and her bottle of wine dangling as Misha sits beside her with a wave.

"You sound like ambrosia in audio format, darlin', especially with the growl," Richard says over the line, and she sits up quickly in surprise.

"Richard, oh my God, I miss you," she says, tears leaking involuntarily from her eyes.

"I miss you, too, love," he says softly over the line. "I don't have much time, and I'm worried they'll try to trace us, or something along those lines. I need to know, have there been more attacks?"

"I've put the clan in lockdown," she says with a nod he can't see, wiping her tears away. "The Pack has done the same. We've had five attacks now, since you left. We're trying to find out who the source is, no luck so far."

"How are you holding up?" he asks gently.

"I'm holding," she says, glancing at Misha, her closest friend from the Pride, and the raven haired, Germanic looking young woman wraps an arm around her friend.

"Have faith, my love," he says softly, and she smiles as she leans into the phone in her hand. "I will be home soon, and I have faith that you can handle anything that needs to be done."

Tasha sniffs, wiping tears away again, "Hurry home, I miss you."

"I miss you too, I need to go, we're all okay, and I'll take care of them," he says, and the line cuts off.

Tasha looks at the phone in her hand, then sets it to the side and picks the bottle of wine back up.

"Now I understand why you didn't want to be Alpha of the Pride, before," Misha says with a twist of her head, hugging her friend. "There's a lot of pressure, tons of work. On the up side, though, you have dropped some pounds and toned up, you sexy beast, you."

Tasha laughs, "I was always a sexy beast, you should know, minx."

"But you're playing for the other team, now," Misha says with a fake pout. "That's okay, though. I still love you, and Richard's a great guy. We're all lucky he's here."

"If the Dogs had come, and he wasn't here," Tasha says with a shake of her head. "Or if Danny had taken control again, we'd be in a tough spot. As it stands, we're better off, but I really wish he were here."

"He knows what's going on, he'll get here as soon as he can," Misha says with a reassuring squeeze, giving her a quick peck on the head. "You've been up for over twenty four hours, you need sleep."

"Yeah, I definitely could use a nap," Tasha agrees.

Richard stares at the payphone he's used in the small town just outside Mexico City. He hadn't been sure that the Iron Dogs had been involved, but with that many attacks, all starting once he'd disappeared, he is certain now. That being the case, he can't be wasting any time getting back.

He's pretty sure they've shook their pursuers from Colombia, having gone west and north to Gudalajara, then back easternly to Mexico City. Now they are just north of the city, in a crappy barrio, Hermano wrangling supplies for them all. He turns from the phone, walking down the dirty street, his hat pulled low and rough poncho-like cloak pulled around him. It's stereotypical, but after their travels, it is suitably worn and ragged looking.

He arrives at where Atticus and Floki sit with their horses down the street, the were-lynx and Neo-Viking guarding their rides and equipment while the others go out for errands and tasks. He strides up to the pair who nod to him in acknowledgement, and he checks his watch, noting that the link up is five minutes away. He scans the area and watches, scanning for threats out of habit, and waiting.

Ten minutes later Jark and Mitchell come trotting up the street, but no Alex.

"Alex got into a fight," Mitchell says without preamble. "He and Hermano were down the street when a local gang confronted them. Shit went bad, and they both got taken away, only after killing at least three of them."

"Shit," Floki curses with a hard frown.

"What next, boss?" Atticus asks, glancing at Richard.

"We ain't leaving them, that's for certain," Richard says thoughtfully. "But if it's a gang, they'll have a hangout, a base and a leader."

"So what is the plan, then?" Mitchell asks, curious what their redoubtable leader would have them do.

"We track them, find them, and get our people," he says with a growl. "And God help anyone who gets in my way."

Alex growls deep in his throat as he wakes up, his chest rumbling as he glares at the bars in front of him. He and Hermano are in a Loup cage, somewhere in the barrio, and he only vaguely remembers what's happened in the last hour. He recalls the fight, and killing at least two, but he'd been cut with silver in the back, bad, and the pain had been indescribable. He awoke in animal form with Hermano in the cell, piecing together what happened.

"Be still," Hermano's voice says from behind him, a hand lying on his shoulder. "They hit you in the kidney with a silver blade. They took us, and I am not sure why."

"Kidnapping is common here," a voice says from the other side of the cage, the loup cage taking up one full wall of the dug-out basement.

Alex is gaining his senses, but is weak from the silver that cut his vitals. It is a deep basement, twelve feet deep, and at least thirty across on each side. There is a large loup cage along one wall, him and Hermano on one end and the owner of the voice in the other. Across from them is a stairway cut in the dirt, with light leaking in.

"They will call your family, and demand payment," the voice continues, a female voice, strong and lilting in the darkness. "They prey on the rich, and gringos. So tell me chico, are you rich?"

"No, but my friend here is white, that is probably why they took us, then," Hermano says with a frown of thought.

"For your sake, I hope that you have some use to them, or you will not last the day," the voice says, and Alex turns his head weakly to look at the other end of the cage.

The owner of the voice is a young woman, stereotypical black hair, brown skin but with a light honey brown colored eyes. She is soft and beautiful to his eyes, and she smells familiar, of a lycanthrope, though he can't place the type now.

"He is too weak to shift," Hermano says with a shake of his head. "I have the information for them to contact our Clan, our Pack."

"You come from the Pack, from Atlanta?" she asks, concern in her voice now, leaning towards them.

"No, from the Houston Pack," Hermano says softly, realizing that information is power and value here, having wished he was faster on the uptake.

The young woman, probably around twenty, looks away towards the stairs, then back at them, edging closer to them as she does.

"I have heard stories, of the American Packs," she says in a bare whisper. "The Alaskans, Ice Fury they are called, are fierce and powerful, and the Pack in Atlanta, under the Beast Lord, he is as brutal and strong as they say?"

Hermano licks his lips in apprehension, unsure what to say, his role in his own Clan too low to know the details, but having done guard, knowing the generalities. He isn't sure what he should reveal, though, and wishes Alex were in human form, to speak instead. He glances down at the Alpha cat on the floor nearby, and Alex pushes himself to his feet, though still crouched near the floor.

"Te-elll, hhhherrrrr," Alex growls brokenly through his feline muzzle, twitching his head. "Tch-aick-ck, chen gro-ow," he coughs, fighting to form words.

"I will tell you," Hermano says in a barely audible tone after nodding to Alex, then looking at the girl in the eyes. "But you must come with us, when we go."

"The ransom will not include me," she says with a frown and a shake of her head. "My family was offered, and refused, believing I wasn't worth bringing back."

"I will tell you, if you will come with us," Hermano repeats, prompted by a growl from Alex.

The girl looks at the two hundred pound werelynx on the ground closer to the door of the cage, then back at Hermano, then nods and averts her gaze, admitting their dominance.

"If you will take me, I will go with you," she says with a near bow.

"Our Clan Alpha is near," Hermano says in the same soft voice, glancing at the stairs and walls in trained paranoia. "Even if they make a call to our home, and arrange for ransom, he will not tolerate us being imprisoned and captured."

"This is no common street gang," she warns, ducking her head so as to not seem offensive. "And you are not from here, you do not have the influence and connections they have. I do not see how he can stop them."

"He won't stop them," Hermano says softly, glancing at Alex, who is chuffing in amusement as the wound on his back continues to slowly heal. "He will destroy them, and punish them as necessary."

Richard hangs up the pay phone, having made some calls to the states, though not to the Pack. He's placed some plans and things in motion to help deal with the Iron Dogs, and that will take some time. And he needs time to deal with this fiasco that Alex and Hermano have gotten themselves into. The rest of the group, except Atticus, are with him, the old werelynx in a stable outside town and heading slowly to a rendezvous in a random desert location they will meet him at in a week.

The two Vikings and Mitchell stay close with him, and he pulls the scarf up over his face again. He is aiming for as much anonymity as he can, to keep his next steps a surprise to those who took his people. They had gone to the site of the attack, but the gang had dropped wolfsbane, which fouled the scent and caused sneezing and snorting from the were-cats. So, simple tracking is out of the question, but there are other methods, especially as Mitchell and Jark had seen the dead bodies.

They leave the side of the restaurant where the phone had been, and Richard leads the group down the street, and soon they find themselves in the outskirts of the barrio. He leads them around the periphery, and soon, an hour of walking later, they come upon the cemetery for the area. He sends Mitchell and Jark to the entrance area, Floki staying with him, hiding among the cheap tombstones. They settle in for a wait, unsure when the bodies of those Hermano and Alex had killed will be brought for burial, but certain they will be. After a few hours of waiting, Floki speaks, though quietly in the dark.

"Mr. Michaels, I have a question to ask, if I may," Floki asks, glancing nervously at the older man.

"Go ahead," he replies in a near whisper, searching the darkness in the opposite direction as the Viking.

"My father, he –," Floki starts, but stammers, trying to find the words. "I am a bastard," he says with certainty, not sure how else to speak. "I have fought and worked under my mother's and uncle's hard eyes to earn my place at my father's side," he says, pausing to find out how to continue.

Richard doesn't interrupt, and after a long moment, the young man continues, "I thought, passing your test of shooting, and our quest against the giant, would earn his respect. But –," he swallows, pushing down the trepidation he feels, "he continues to push me into tasks from the Guild, both me and Jark. But, it's…"

Again he trails off, awkward, the man next to him a mentor, and he now feels ashamed for asking, bringing up something that seems so stupid, adolescent.

"You don't feel it's competitive, but that it's still a test, it has a meaning," Richard says calmly from beside him, his eyes never pausing in their circuit of their surroundings. "You feel as though your father is trying to discover something about you, and you do not know what it is."

Floki thinks on this for a moment, then nods, glancing sideways at Richard, then back to his sector, "Yes. I do not understand, and it bothers me."

"You are clever, whereas your brother is simple, but true," Richard says, his method of speech shifting to that which the Vikings habitually use. "What does Ragnar, and all true Vikings, prize above all else?"

"Honor, strength, courage," Floki says immediately, having been taught as much since he was a child barely able to walk.

"True enough, but more than that, Viking is not a noun, it is a verb, an action," Richard says. "Your father is looking for something more than that, to make sure that you, and your brother, are true warriors."

"I shoot better than any man in the village, and both me and Jark are good with sword, axe and spear," Floki says with a frustrated frown and wrinkled brow. "We have fought with you, and others, and not buckled or shied away. What more does he want?"

"To see if you have the soul of a warrior, a leader, a hunter, Vikings in truth" he says, his eyes flashing slightly at the last.

Floki frowns harder, still watching the cemetery, then shakes his head, "I don't understand."

"There is no hunting, like the hunting of a man," Richard replies after a pause, in a singsong fashion that indicates he's quoting something. "And those who have hunted armed men long enough, and like it, never really care for anything else, thereafter."

Floki is quiet for a long time, pondering those words, then finally nodding, and saying softly in thanks, "I think I understand your words."

"Don't thank me," Richard says with a smile to himself. "Thank Hemmingway, he was the one who wrote it. And he was right."

Tasha sits on the platform of the barn, as has become a habit for her, since Richard has been gone, sipping tea as she sits cross legged and staring at the land around her. She wears leather sandals and jeans, her long jacket laid out behind her and she sits with a silk blouse and a leather vest on, her hair braided into a single rope today, a few strands hanging in front of her face. She scans the land below and before her, the plate of simple bread and cheese on the floor before her with her tea.

The daily ritual had started more as a way to cope with his disappearance at first, coming to the platform to gather herself before facing the challenges of the day. As more Clan members had come to stay at the Bastion, as it has begun to be called, she couldn't collect herself as she had before. It had, however, become something that the people, her people, have come to expect, and she has found out, through her various informants in the Clan, that it has taken more meaning. Her unhurried movement up the series of boards sticking out of the wall of the barn while carrying her simple breakfast has been a steadying action to them, the calm center of the storm.

Once she had heard that others had taken solace in the action, she had given quiet words to Nita and Misha, and the next day the security personnel that were not on duty had begun doing similar rituals on the battlements. The time she has spent here originally had been to help calm herself, and the audience had originally made her nervous, but she always recalls Richard's smirk and advice to "never let them see you sweat". Now she is truly relaxed, even knowing that over a hundred sets of eyes look at her every morning, and she orders her thoughts for the day now as she sips her tea and contemplatively eats her breakfast.

Richard had told her, before he'd gone, that she had changed, since they met, and that he loved her all the more for those changes. She had thought the same of him, though she hadn't told him. When they met, he was only going through the motions, and as time went on, and became more comfortable with the Pack, he has taken a more Alpha role. He had been a good man when they met, and now he is a good leader, and hers.

She's pulled from her reverie by movement from the main gate, and she ignores it, as there has been no shout of a message or alarm, and no signal flag run up. She sets her tea down calmly, then finishes her meal as she hears people talking below, then someone ascend the beams up to the roof. She turns her head to where her visitors approach, and is surprised to see Pelos and Noel, followed by Misha and Will coming onto the roof of the barn.

She rises gracefully to her feet on the platform, then bows to Pelos, "Good morning, sir. What can Clan Cat do for the Pack Lord this morning?"

"I have some troubling news, Tasha," he says without preamble, glancing at the others. "We received a call this morning from a gang in Mexico. They claim to have taken prisoner two of your Clan, Alex and Hermano."

"He called the Pack security line, last night while the tech was up," Noel says in his landslide of a voice, rubbing his bulging yet firm stomach beneath his own thick leather vest. "Hermano spoke, and I recognized his voice."

Tasha narrows her eyes in thought, breathing deep for a moment, then asks, "What exactly did he say?"

"He confirmed that he and Alex were prisoners," Noel says with frown and shake of his head.

"No," Tasha says, shaking her head firmly at the man that used to be her alpha, but is now her equal. "Exactly. What _exactly_ did he say? Word for word."

Noel blinks and bristles slightly, having still looked at her as junior, despite her new position as Alpha of the Cat Clan. He grits his jaw and begins to respond but pauses as Pelos raises his hand and looks at him for a moment. Noel takes a breath, then calms himself before speaking again.

"He said, 'The Khan is hunting and we are taken'," Noel says carefully with a now thoughtful frown.

Tasha smirks at that, then chuckles, "Then I think they will be delayed. But I wouldn't worry."

"This is a code," Pelos says, smirking at her. "What does it mean?"

"Khan is the tiger from the Jungle Book, by Kipling, and Richard is a fan," she explains with a smile. "If he's hunting, then he's free and working the problem there. I would pity the people that were stupid enough to cross him, if I weren't angry they had endangered my cats, as well."

"Should we negotiate, pay the ransom then?" Pelos asks, tilting his head at Tasha.

"Stall, but don't worry about the arrangements," Tasha says with a certain shake of her head, then glancing at Noel.

"She's right," Noel agrees after a moment's thought. "Richard has two Vikings and two shapeshifters with him still. He'll wreak bloody havoc on them, then be gone in a week. The only risk is to the captives."

"And 'taken' is code in our security to mean that they are not concerned with rescue," she explains further. "If he had said 'caged', it would mean they were tortured and beaten. We have a few other key words to be substituted for different scenarios."

"That's surprisingly thorough," Noel says with a frown. "When did he make these?"

"We have a security handbook for the Clan," Tasha says with a smile. "I can have a copy brought to the Pack Security offices if you like, but Richard has not finalized it yet, it's still a draft. He was almost done with it when he left."

Pelos is looking at her, and she averts her eyes, as protocol requires, but a zing of adrenaline hits her system as she does. Pelos is looking at her differently than before, and she hides her reaction, keeping calm and centered, especially in front of others and literally in front of her entire Clan.

"Please do, so we can all benefit from it," Pelos says with a smile and nod, looking at the group, then down at the gathered Clan in sight below their perch. "And I see that you have been busy with construction, while Richard is away."

"He had plans set up, and we were going to make improvements in stages, but with the call up, it seemed a good cover, and it keeps everyone's hands busy," she replies, walking to the edge as well, though out of arm's reach.

They are looking at the open training area that has been set up for months now, but in addition are a number of additional structures. Made from solid stone and hefted into position, they are greek and roman in design, and the interior of the original fortifications are now looking more like a city in miniature. Single story houses in orderly grids replacing the tents the Clan had originally placed out for themselves, and larger buildings interspersed. Only a few of the houses are built so far, made roughly of stone and logs, but the main constructions are two different buildings, one entirely enclosed and another with an open end.

"What are those going to be?" Pelos asks, pointing to the two larger constructions.

"An arena, to have training, challenges, games and performances," she says to the larger enclosed one. "And the other is a theatre, based off of England's Shakespearian theatre, the Globe, but open instead of enclosed."

"Richard is a man of many parts," Pelos says with an admiring nod. "You are lucky to have him as the Clan Alpha."

"I am lucky to have him as my mate," she says in agreement, smiling warmly at the thought of him. "And I just hope we didn't mess his plans up too much," she says with a light laugh.

They talk for a few more minutes, and then Pelos leaves, but Noel stays, saying he needs to talk to her about the security arrangements. When they are alone, Will and Misha the only other two on the barn roof with them, he speaks in a low voice, hard to hear.

"Did you see that?" he asks, looking at the people below casually.

"Yes," she says as she picks up her jacket and puts it on with care. "He looked at me, and not in a way my mate would approve of. Hell, I don't approve of it."

"You will have to be careful," Noel warns. "You can't afford an enemy, especially not him."

Tasha turns to him quickly and her eyes flash gold as she fixes her own Alpha glare on him, "I am not a prize to be won, Noel. And I will not change who I am, or what I do. If the Pack Lord desires me, he had best keep it to himself, and never approach me. He will not like the way I turn him down. Richard is _mine_, and no one will take me from him."

She says this in a fierce whisper, and the two lock gazes challengingly for a long set of moments before Noel smirks, then snorts a chuckle.

"I remember you, before him, before this," he says with a tight smile, waving at the Clan below, working and toiling away, oblivious to the discussion. "He has changed you. You are different."

"For good, or bad?" she asks, surprised at his amusement.

"Good," he says with a nod. "I helped him then, because I saw the good he could do. He has proven me right in ways I hadn't thought of, and you are the example of that."

"What do you mean?" she asks, recognizing that he is speaking as a friend, and that they are not enemies, a relief to her.

"I saw the tactical and strategic advantage of having him," he says, crossing his arms and looking around. "Now I see that he develops those he works with, even more than I realized. And you don't realize it, but you are one of my kids, gone off to make your own life. Richard is good for you, and you for him."

Tasha is taken by surprise at this, though after a moment of thought, she realizes the truth of it. He has been her Clan leader for years, and had taken an interest in the Lions, especially after her brother died, two years ago. She takes a breath and calms down, and collects up the items from breakfast.

"We will keep to protocols, and make sure we both have chaperones," she says with a disgusted sigh. "Richard probably doesn't get that yet, I'll try to explain it to him when he returns."

"Do you really think he will be that bad on the gang that took Alex and Hermano?" Noel asks, following her as she descends the steps to the ground.

"He escaped a hunting preserve designed and manned by people trained and expert at killing shapeshifters," she says with a snort. "He'll burn whatever shithole they call home to the ground after getting our people back, then walk away without a second thought."

Noel snorts and nods agreement, "I'm glad he's on our side."

"He most definitely is," she says with a smile of her own.

Richard is standing in an alley with a trio of young men lying at his feet, all bleeding and broken in some form or another. They had followed them from the burial, and tracked them here, and Richard had taken out his anger at his people being taken. Not completely, though, as he still needs them breathing for what comes next.

He reaches down and grabs the one that is moaning and moving, clutching at his shattered knee. He roughly picks him up with one arm and pins him to the concrete wall of the alley. The man starts to cry out in pain but Richard clamps his other hand over the man's mouth, stifling the cry. The others from his group watch the ends of the alley as he works, and he pauses to allow the man to end his initial cry of pain before removing his hand.

"I have some simple questions for you," he says in a growl, his face concealed by bandanna and hat. "Answer honestly, and you won't have to suffer. If you hold out on me, you will not survive. Do you understand?"

The young man, a mexican gang member judging from his dress and tattoos, groans and nods assent, and Richard continues.

"The men you buried, who do they work for?" he asks, still holding the man on the wall with one arm.

"He is called the Hand," the man chokes out. "He is the Cartel's man here in the barrio."

"Good," Richard says with a nod. "Where do I find him?"

"He'll kill me," the man pleads.

"What the fuck do you think I'm going to do to you if I don't like your answers?" Richard asks, then kicks the man's shattered knee while clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the scream again.

When the man's struggles slow, he removes the gloved hand, and repeats his question, "Where do I find him?"

"There's a cantina, northside, called 'la muerta delicata'," he sobs.

Richard snorts, understanding enough Spanish to know it means "a delicate death". He asks the man a few more questions, to confirm his suspicions on the activities and methods of the gang, then shakes him against the wall again.

"Hide for the next couple days, if you know what's good for you," Richard says, dropping the man then turning on his heel.

The others fall in behind him, the Vikings immediately behind and Mitchell bringing up the rear. He strides down the street with purpose, not even trying to hide his predatory stride or stance, and the others with him follow his lead. After watching this place for a couple days and the actions on his people, he is tired of playing games and the indirect approach.

"This is going to be distinctly not subtle," he says over his shoulder in English. "Keep your masks on, and cover me, I'm on point, Floki watch my back, Jark, watch Mitchell's. Mexican gangs are mixes of lycanthropes and humans and other things. Don't hesitate, watch the blood splatter, and protect yourself. There's no backup, just us."

"Is this wise, to take on a Mexican gang by ourselves?" Mitchell asks, not challenging, but curious.

"Motherfuckers want to do a hasty snatch and grab on my people?" he asks with a growl in his voice. "I'll show them what a hasty snatch and grab looks like."

The Vikings laugh harshly at the statement, and Mitchell grins a cat's grin, a predator's grin as well. He had been angry at losing to Richard in hand to hand so badly, but now, he considers if he can still change Clans without a penalty or problem. Richard keeps his eyes moving, watching his surroundings as they walk down the street, mentally planning their moves. He should wait and stake out the place first, but his patience is wearing thin and his impression of this gang tells his gut he can forego finesse.

Ten minutes after finishing his questioning of the gang members, he is walking down the street towards the cantina, the fey lanterns there casting an eerie blue glow down the street. His eyes flash gold as he approaches, a low growl in his throat.

Alex blinks his eyes in the pale light of dawn, recognizing immediately that he is in human form now. His back is still sore from the wound, but not sharp as it had been. He's lying on his back, and his head is in the lap of the young woman sharing the cell with them, Hermano sitting near the front door of the Loup cage. The woman strokes his face gently in the fading darkness, the dawn approaching.

"You slept, and changed," she says softly, stroking his face gently. "Your friend was taken upstairs, and called your home, during a short tech wave."

Alex takes a last moment to enjoy her fingers on his skin, then rolls to the side, and pushes himself to a crouch. He stretches his back, and can feel the wound on his back still oozing blood. He still feels weak, and tired, but he shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and tries to focus, drawing from the lessons and training Mr. Michaels has given him.

"Hermano, what did you tell the Pack?" he asks in a whisper.

"Khan is hunting, we are taken," Hermano says quietly. "And it was the Pack line."

"Let's hope you didn't make a liar out of us," he says with frown. "But it was our own fault for getting caught. And good work on the knife wound, I can feel the last of the silver in my system, but you cut out the most of it."

"She did it, when we got here," Hermano says with a nod at the girl. "I had no knives, but she can turn her fingers to claws, and was able to dig out the worst of the damaged tissue and silver."

Alex looks at her with a curious expression, "I have never met a lycanthrope that could do that."

She frowns and ducks her head, curling up and shying away, "I am not like the others. It is why my parents, my family, will not take me back, won't pay."

Alex thinks on it for a moment, "What are you?"

She looks down at her feet, her thick black hair still shiny and beautiful despite having been here for a few days or more. She fiddles with her toes for a moment and glances back up, but Alex is still looking at her, having learned from Richard that patience and silence will most often get the answers.

"I am beast-kin," she says in a barely audible tone, and Alex glances at Hermano, who straightens slightly at the new information, his face reflexively scowling.

"Stop," Alex says to Hermano, who eases his bristling. "You said so yourself, she helped us, and had no reason to. She is a friend."

"So, will you still take me?" she says in a small voice, and Alex looks at her carefully again.

Her first actions and behavior were not as submissive as they are now. A part of him is curious why, and internally he nods as he realizes where he recognizes it from. He had been similar, cowed to submission after his father died, and Richard had built him back up. She is not naturally this submissive, but has been treated to know what happens if someone with her background doesn't do as they are told.

"We will," Alex says firmly. "We will take you out of this place, with us. Beyond that, it is up to our Alpha."

She seems to lighten up initially, but on news that their Alpha will decide her fate, she is timorous again.

"Without the ransom, you will not get out of here," she says sadly, looking at the floor again.

Alex leans forward, and gently lifts her chin until her golden eyes are looking directly at him.

"Our master is like a great wind, and he can be as gentle as a breeze, or violent as the storms," Alex says with a smile, reassuring, and she smiles timidly in response.

Hermano smirks behind them, turning his attention back to the stairway. He had always smirked at Alex and those other guys that read too much, especially poetry. Normal guys don't read poetry, but then he has to grudgingly admit that knowing that stuff comes in handy in a situation like this.

Richard doesn't hesitate as he arrives at the front door of the bar, two bouncers in front of him. He immediately lunges out with his right foot and connects with the knee of the man on the right, shattering it. He plants his feet and then launches at the left hand guard, shoving his elbow into the man's chest so hard he breaks ribs through the breastplate he wears, leaving an imprint. He shakes out his right arm from the blow for only a moment, and pushes through the front door as he continues into the club.

He enters far enough to allow his people in behind him, and scans the bar. It's a place that gives dives a bad name, a dirty stained floor, a bar on one side, booths and tables spread about. The music is from a band on the stage, and not loud, as the tech is down. The music dies down as the screams from the guards enter with the group, and the bar slows to stillness.

Richard looks around, the center of attention for the entire room full of people, and instead of adrenaline, he calms down, and the prebattle jitters disappear. He pushes back his hat, then lowers his bandanna, revealing an inch of hair and a light beard over the brown canvas poncho and jeans he wears.

"Who is in charge here?" he demands loudly, looking around with a slight golden flash in his eyes.

After some shoving and shouting from the far end, a tall and solid Mexican man walks from a booth in the corner. He's followed by four others, and Richard immediately judges them to be lycanthropes from their movements. Half of the remaining patrons at the bar are backing away, making their way cautiously to the other exits, and Richard lets them.

"You fucking gringo puta!" the man yells at him as he approaches, pulling a butcher knife from his belt, a shimmer on the edge indicting its silver. "I am going to cut off your nose and feed it to you!"

"I am here for my people," Richard says in response, and the gang members slow as their leader does. "Give them to me."

"They killed two of my boys, cut up a few others," the man says, gesturing with the knife. "That will cost you, gringo."

"My man had to have told you where they came from," Richard says solidly. "If you have two brain cells, you did some research. Do not fuck with me. Give them to me, I will not ask again."

"Don't fuck with me, you –," he begins to retort hotly, but Richard doesn't wait for him to finish.

He pulls the tactical tomahawk he'd swapped his gladius for from his belt in his right hand, a knife in his left, and strides to the man directly. The big Mexican is surprised, but reacts well, deflecting the strike from the axe and following through with an attack of his own. Richard weaves to the side, avoiding the cut and backhands the spike of the tomahawk into the upper buttocks of the man. He falls to the ground, the spike having struck the nerve cluster in the back of the leg and seizing him up in pain. Richard rises to his full height as he plants a solid forward kick with his right foot in the gang member to the left, the hip kick strong enough to send the man flying through a table and into a wall.

"Find our people, free them," he orders over his shoulder as arrows zing past him from Floki while Jark and Mitchell, who has Richard's ice axe, hurry to a side door, following a scent.

The pair of guards to the right have completed their own changes, and a pair of werewolves snarl at him, and the first leaps to tackle him. Richard drops and twists whiles keeping his feet below him and chopping quickly up and backwards. The outstretched claws miss him initially and begin to curl back to the grab him, but the tomahawk cuts solidly into the lower jaw from below, shattering the bone and cutting into the roof of the mouth. The shock and pain override the trained reaction and the hands that could clutch instead slide weakly off of his cloth poncho, tearing a few holes in it.

The other werewolf is on him immediately, and Richard dodges a few blows while backing up, he ducks to his left, while parrying with the tomahawk. He chops into the monster's forearm, then immediately twists the handle to free the axe and jams the blunt flat of the head into the thick neck of the creature. The momentum from the attack and his own strength cause a deep ragged gouge through the neck, despite the lack of a sharpened edge. The lycanthrope drops in a spray of blood.

Richard moves to his next opponent, a pair of swordsmen who managed to find cover from Floki behind a table, and Richard charges them with a smile on his face.

Alex looks up at the ceiling of the basement at the sound of yelling and fighting from above. He has been awake for about ten minutes now, and has been speaking in low tones with the young woman with them, Rosita Fuentes. After a moment of listening, he smirks and backs away from the bars of the cage.

"I think Khan is here," he says, Hermano smiling as well.

A few moments later one of the gang members is thrown down the stairs, followed quickly by a large man wearing a horseblanket poncho. He has a heavy round shield in front of him and a flaming sword in hand, a bandana pulled up to cover his face. He hops the last few steps and lands hard on man gathering himself on the floor, bashing him with the shield and impaling him with the sword. He rolls to the side and rises, crouched behind his shield in case there are any other enemies present, but after checking the surroundings, he nods and approaches the bars.

"Stay back," the young man with dirty blond hair says, Alex recognizing Jark's scent and voice.

The young Viking places the flat of the sword against the lock securing the door, and glances over his shoulder as he waits. After a count of twenty, the lock is starting to glow with heat, not quite melting, and he grunts in anger. Commotion comes from the top of the stairway, and turns to yell over his shoulder.

"The lock is hot, hit it with Ice," he shouts, adjusting his stance.

A black man with a bandana and a horseblanket poncho runs down the stairs with a battle axe in his hand, and he raises it high as he gets to the floor. The weapon glows blue, and the young man steps out of the way as the were-jaguar chops hard at the glowing metal of the lock. The steel/silver composite shatters, and Hermano leads the other two out of the cage.

Alex stops at the man lying on the floor and rips the man's boots off, then his pants. He pulls the pants on, then gestures Mitchell to lead, remaining barefoot. They file out of the basement, and onto a landing which looks into a back storeroom for a bar. There are dead and dying men and monsters lying about, most with limbs shattered or guts cut out. Alex looks around and guesses that only a couple will last until noon, unless a medmage gets here in the next twenty minutes or less.

They stride quickly through the room, Mitchell on cat feet in his soft soled leather sandals, Jark in his heavy combat boots, and the others barefoot. Mitchell opens the door to the next room, pauses then enters and the others follow. Alex hides his surprise, as he had thought the back room had looked bad with eight or so dead or dying things, but the bar in front looks like a charnel house. There must be over a dozen bodies lying about, half of which have at least one arrow protruding from it, and Richard is standing in the middle in a brown blanket poncho, looking like a gunslinger from an old western.

Floki is at the front door, standing up from the body of a large, potbellied Mexican biker, his own khurki wet with blood and his bow in hand still. He flicks the blood from the blade then shoves it in his sheath as he sets an arrow on his string and starts to circle the room, retrieving arrows. Richard is dragging a tall, solid Mexican to the stage, Hermano's description of the gang leader matches him. Richard tosses the man into the brick wall behind the stage, which shudders and gives a little, and he pins the larger man there with a long dagger to the shoulder.

The man yells mutedly, clutching at the blade, but Richard slaps the hand away and slugs the man in the stomach hard. He picks up another knife discarded from a nearby dead man, and then pins the free arm to the wall at the wrist. He grabs the man's chin and brings him eye to eye.

"If you survive this," Richard says darkly, forcing eye contact with the crippled and pinned werewolf, "remember that this is me being merciful. Do not fuck with me, or mine, again."

He turns from the man, then gestures at Jark, "Torch it, we're leaving."

Jark starts setting fires along the bar and bodies with the flaming sword, and after only a few moments, he joins the others at the door and they leave together, striding westward out of town. They duck off the road once out of the barrio, then wind through the gulleys and washed out plains, double backing a couple of times and walking along trails from time to time. After a two hours of travel, they head north, and Richard brings Alex to his side.

"What's the story with the castaway?" he asks, gesturing to the girl with them.

"Kidnapped, family won't pay the ransom, don't want her back," he says, pausing. "She's beastkin."

Richard thinks on that for a moment, "That's taboo with the shapeshifters, with us, in the main, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," he says with a nod. "They are usually killed young, and most aren't really intelligent. I wouldn't have known had she not said so."

He calls the group to a halt, and in the late morning light, he gestures the woman travelling with them to him. She keeps her head down and he studies her with a critical eye as he walks around her, her right hand across her stomach and holding her other elbow, the arm dangling. She's wearing simple rough spun clothing, a long skirt and blouse of earthy tones, she has a pretty face and long black, full hair that reaches her waist. He catches her scent fully as he circles her, and he senses a familiarity under her scent, probably linked to her type of animal, but he can't place it.

He stops in front of her, "Raise your chin. Look me in the eye."

She hesitates, then does as she's told, looking up at him under her eyebrows. Richard meets her gaze calmly, flatly, then twitches his head at her.

"Raise your chin, higher," he says, and she reluctantly does. "Hands at your sides, straighten your shoulders."

She fidgets for a few moments, looking away and doing as he says.

"Look at me," he says again, and her eyes meet his again.

Richard studies her eyes and her stance again, mentally cataloguing her, and then nods.

"Poor family, you were abused, and fought back, they broke you, though, or near enough," he says ignoring the others who are ten yards or more away, watching the distance and security. "But you fought, didn't you? You have a fire, I can see it in the back of your eyes. You hide it well, but your instinct is to hate me, even though I have done nothing to hurt you yet."

She blinks at his description, surprised, then looking around and down again, "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course not," he says with a tight frown of distaste, not of her, but the people who did that to her. "I tell everyone who joins my Clan, that whomever they experienced before, they must remember, I am not those men. In time, you will understand."

"Sir," the girl says in the long silence, ducking her head, trying to fill it.

"Alex," he says to the side, and the were-lynx trots over, his own dirty blond hair a finger's length, but a clean shaven face.

"What is your name?" Richard asks the girl, who has slipped back into an unsure and submissive posture.

"Rosita Fuentes," she says quietly.

"Rosita, we will be leaving here, and going back home, to America," he says simply, looking at her. "Do you want to come with us?"

She pauses before answering, asking, "What would I do there?"

"We'll find you a job, help you get on your feet, you will be in my Clan," he says simply. "You will become part of my family. If you do not understand what that means, Alex will explain."

"It is not bad," he says immediately, soothingly to the young woman. "We take care of each other, watch each other's backs."

"But," she stammers, swallowing hard, "but I am beastkin."

"Alex said so, but I don't care," Richard says simply. "If others have an issue, I will take care of it. But you must earn your place, just as any other member of the Clan. There are no handouts, and you cannot blame your ancestry for behavior. You are responsible for your actions. Understand?"

"I-I think so," she says uncertainly.

"Alex will explain more," he says with a nod. "You have until we reach the border to decide."

"I have nowhere else to go," she says with a sigh, glancing up at him. "I will come with you, if you will have me."

"Very well," Richard says with a solid nod. "Alex, you are her sponsor. Watch her, help her until we get home, then we'll figure something out."

"Yes, sir," he says with a duck of his head, still in only the stolen pants, but now with a belt and combat knife on his hip.

"One last thing," he says, frowning. "I must know what you are, and what I am bringing into my Clan. Remove your clothes, and shift."

She nods, and pulls her blouse and skirt off without hesitation, and her movements and lack of concern over her nakedness tells him more. Even shapeshifters have a bit of human culture placed in them about nudity, which means her beast side pushed it away, or she was trained by her family/pack to not protest. She is fit, not quite soft but young and firm, and she closes her eyes as she leans forward and shifts.

Her skin ripples and bones change shape and configuration, and bend in the wrong direction. Her head elongates and changes form, her teeth receding into her mouth and her nose elongating out to meet her stretching lower jaw. Her arms have bent, her thumb and knuckle curling into a small digit with talons on it, her fingers spreading back and sprouting feathers. Her skin shimmers and is covered with feathers and not fur, and a short stiff spread of tail feathers stick out of her backside.

Richard looks at what looks to him like a were-hawk, standing mostly upright at just over three feet tall and probably a hundred and fifty pounds. The rear legs are larger in proportion than a normal raptor's capable of a four pointed walk, using the knuckle-talon of the wings to help like an ape's would. The wings are partly functional, Richard guesses, good for gliding at the least, perhaps powered flight, considering the increased strength of a lycanthrope.

"Do you have any other forms, or only these two?" he asks, and she ducks her head, shaking it with a sharp coughing sound. "You can't talk in this form. That's okay. Alex, carry her stuff for her, then try to get some answers, the usual, but obviously yes or no since she can't talk."

He says the last with smile, then walks over to Rosita, who ducks her head, and he places a hand gently on her shoulder. After a moment, she raises her eyes timidly to meet his.

"I am Richard Michaels, Alpha of Clan Cat of the Houston Pack," he says solidly with a smile. "Your probation period to join starts now, Rosita Fuentes."

Tasha is practicing in the training area in the afternoon light when she hears horses approach and a short, sharp whistle cut the air. She has been getting better at the practice forms for her saber, and continues the drill with dedication, knowing she is years from mastery, but determined to get there. She pauses her series of disarms and cuts, then relaxes, having recognized the signal from the front gate. She accepts a towel from Misha, her guard/assistant for the afternoon, and wipes the sweat away and dabbing at her wet braids.

A teenager from the Clan runs over to her a few breaths later, stopping a few yards away, "Alpha, two knights and two Texas Rangers are at the front gate."

"I will be there in a few moments," she says, waving him away, and he runs back to the gate.

She pulls off her sweat soaked t-shirt, tossing it into a basket of dirty towels, dries herself hurriedly with the towel, then pulls the fresh blouse from the pile with her jacket, over her moist but mostly dry sports bra. She pulls on her vest and then long jacket, finishing with her weapons belt and saber. They are still on lockdown, and she is being very careful to follow the procedures Richard had set out, setting a good example.

She walks calmly to the front gate, and the guards open the side man sized door for her in the gate, and she walks out with Misha behind her, four guards on the top of the gate and battlements. Natalie Rushman and Daniels are on horses from the Order, and a pair of Rangers Tasha recognizes from other missions and Richard's dealings.

"Knight Inspector Daniels, Knight Rushman, Ranger Davis," she says, greeting the three of the four she knows. "It is good to see you again. How can I help you?"

"We have some information, we need to talk," Daniels says without pause, frowning down at her.

"We have work being done inside, I can't let you in," she says with a shake of her head but a smile to soften it. "Let's go for a walk, we can talk by the ship."

She looks to the battlements and raises two fingers, and two of the guards immediately vault over the rail and land on the ground on bent knees, the fall over ten yards. She turns back as they move, ignoring their actions, though the guests pause at the overt display, a show of obedience and coordination, a display of power. She strides through the four horses, and they jostle after she passes, not all trained to handle shapeshifters, and after a few moments they are walking quickly to catch up to where she has continued to walk down the road.

"That's a nice looking sword you have there," Daniels says as his horse canters up next to her. "Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift," she says without explanation, and they are nearly at the grounded Viking boat.

She stretches her stride, then leaps up onto the rail of the boat, then turns on it and sits facing out and at the mounted visitors. She had been looking up at them, but now she is slightly higher than them, despite sitting on the rail, and she crosses her legs and leans forward.

"So, what's up?" she asks, but the four humans are looking behind her, though Davis shakes it off first, and speaks.

"We got a call from Richard an hour or so ago," he says. "Asked us to be ready to get him, the group you sent, and one other, an unnamed female, through the border. Said it would be some time in the next few days."

"Good," she says with a nod, having not heard anything from him herself since he'd called in person before the barrio kidnapping fiasco, which she was not going to tell these people about.

"We've also gotten some complaints, in regards to some of your people," Daniels says with a scowl, glaring at her. "The Pack's point of contact is Michaels, and he's still not back. Were-leopards in particular. There's been mugging in downtown, four incidents. Two dead and three injured so far. The injured are in the hospital being treated, one for Lyc-V infection."

"Nearly all of Clan Cat is here, at the Bastion," she says with a wave at the fort she had just come from. "No one has left in groups smaller than four in over a week. If you are accusing the Pack and my Clan specifically, I need descriptions and evidence, Knight Inspector. If someone is guilty, they must be held accountable."

She adds the last to clear up that she wants justice done, but he only glares at her, then glancing back behind her at the mast of the ship. Tasha ignores his glance, but knows he's looking at the decomposing body of Danny, nailed there from over a week ago.

"What was he guilty of?" the un-named Ranger asks with a frown, his face slightly pale and still coming to grips with the implied brutality of the treatment to the corpse.

"That is Clan business, handled internally within the Pack and Clan," Tasha says smoothly, then tilts her head to the side. "But he had a long history of abuse, corruption, and recent activities burned the last chance Richard had given him, though he didn't deserve it."

"Did he deserve _that_?" the ranger asks before Davis can wave him to stop.

"He was the previous Clan Alpha, and when he took charge, five years ago, his activities would be considered felonies and crimes if he had done them in the human world," she says coldly, staring hard at the Ranger, then shifting her gaze to Daniels. "No one was strong enough to stop him from abusing his power. No one would protect those weaker, until Richard came. Our laws are stricter now, and _all_ are held accountable. He is an example to everyone, that the guilty will be punished."

Daniels meets her gaze levelly, frowning, and after a long moment, nods not in agreement, but stating, "The guilty should be punished."

"Yes, they should," Tasha agrees with a near growl and a slight flash of gold in her eyes, then gestures to the side. "Misha, stay and speak with the Rangers and Knights to find out the details on this issue involving possible lycanthrope muggings. This makes us look bad, because people will automatically think of us."

"Yes, Alpha," Misha says with a nod and motions for one of the guards to stay with her as she approaches the group closer.

Tasha hops down from the rail and walks back to the gate with one guard, her mind thinking over this new predicament, wondering if this is internal Pack politics, an attack from the Iron Dogs, or unrelated.

Richard is jogging in the lead of the group, the horses trotting behind them down the dirt road. The shapeshifters are all on foot with one of the cats other than Richard in animal form as they move. The Vikings are trotting the horses to keep up, two pack horses with them. They have been attacked along their route almost every day since landing in Mexico, and now they are less than a dozen miles from the Mexico/US border.

They come over a rise and Richard gestures them all to join him on the high ground, looking down at the border in the distance. Before the shift, the border had been nearly non-existant except as occasional fences, and after it had changed, with a tighter lock down than before. With Texas declaring a near complete independence from the US, it has become even tighter, with towers and patrols all along the border, and magical defenses for when the magic is up.

"Eagle Pass," Richard says with a sigh. "Less than a hundred miles from San Antonio, and then Houston, home."

"You sure we'll get through okay?" Alex asks, a touch doubtful. "We are bringing an illegal in."

"I called from that last village, with the tech up, and called the Rangers, they know we're coming," he says, starting to trot again towards the line of border towers and the traffic checkpoint between them and the US city beyond it. "I'll have to submit a report, but I'm going to try and convince them to let me go home and do it there. The rest I can work out."

They arrive at the checkpoint, and Richard walks along the shoulder of the road until they are in line with other trucks, horses, mules and wagons, waiting to be searched and allowed in. They are in line for a couple hours, and it is dark when they reach the checkpoint. The guard to allow them in is a white male in his thirties, in a tan border patrol agent uniform, a short sword on his side and idly toying with an axe on the desk in the small shack to the side.

"Name and business?" he asks, glancing at the group behind him and trying to decide if they are together or not.

"Texas Ranger Richard Michaels," he says as he takes off his hat and adjusts his bandana to be seen well. "I called ahead and notified I was coming. Are you tracking my situation?"

"No," the man says slowly. "Phones are down, with the magic up. What's your business, and how many are with you?"

"I was kidnapped, and escaped," he says simply, not wanting to get into details with this guy, four others behind him waiting for the word to search. "I don't have my ID, badge, passport, nothing. These are my friends from home that came to get me. Some of their stuff has been stolen during the rescue attempt. I just want to go home."

"So do I, hombre," the guard says with a stream of tobacco to the side. "But if you got no ID, you don't come through. Rules are rules. Step to the side and when the tech comes back, whoever's on shift will be able to call. Now move."

Richard grits his teeth, "We'll wait right here, then."

"No, away from the border," the guard says with another spit. "When the tech comes back, get in line. Now get. Next!"

Richard turns slowly and breathes deeply and calmly as he leads the others back the way they came. The guy is a small time hick, and as much as he wants to punch him, it won't do any good. They'll camp out down the road and try again in the morning.

"Khan, guards approaching," Floki says in a solid voice from where he stands on the northern part of their small campsite, AK in his hands.

Richard rises from where he had been dozing and exits the low light of the fire. He adjusts his dirty beat-up straw cowboy hat to sit better and walks to the three men walking down the shoulder from the border outpost. He stands in the middle of the road, Floki twenty yards behind him off the shoulder, covering him. The three men walk up and the lead one is an older man with a thick gray mustache and hair, a portly belly and pair of gold stars on his fancy Border Patrol uniform. The man tips back his big white cowboy hat and extends his hand to shake.

"Richard Michaels, _the_ Richard Michaels, hot damn," the man says shaking his hand firmly. "I just heard you were coming just after supper. Word didn't get down here before you made it."

"We made good time," Richard says simply. "Are we cleared to come through?"

"Yes, yes of course," the man says excitedly, and Richard realizes the man is attempting flattery as he continues. "The Lead Ranger for the State called, explained what was going on. I caught a ley line and headed this way as soon as I heard, just as soon."

"Glad to hear it," Richard says with a smile and a nod, glancing back at the others, waving them up. "It'll take my folks a few minutes to break camp. What's next?"

"We'll skip the line, bring you up for a cursory inspection," the man says, waving it away as nothing. "I'm Marshal Pendergass, I'm in charge over everything on the border from Big Bend to Loredo."

"I appreciate the help, Marshal," Richard says with a nod, aiming for polite. "How long will the inspection take? I have friends coming to help us keep moving in the morning."

"We're just checking for drugs, explosives, things like that," the Marshall says, then glances at the two men behind him, a few steps away and says in a lower voice. "I know being in Injun Country means being prepared, and doing gray area actions. I did my time just after the Shift on those things. Anything really odd, we'll have to keep, and if it clears you can get it later."

"Nothing odd, really, a femur bone I picked up in Columbia, but nothing else magic that we didn't leave with," he says with a thoughtful shake of his head. "My second has the papers for those. Some guns, AKs, that are unregistered. Really don't care if we get to keep them or not."

"Sounds good," the Marshal says, glancing past him to where the rest of the group is coming from. "This them?"

"Yes," he says, turning and looking at the ragged party.

The two Neo-Vikings who are dressed in modern garb and look like very young mercs, their modern tactical vests and leather armor attachments battered and worn. Both have small scars from various injuries incurred in the journey, and with a mix of classic and modern melee weapons. Mitchell is in black jeans and a dark blue horseblanket poncho, a faded and worn baseball cap on his fuzzy black head, and Ice on his hip. His jeans are torn mid shin and he walks barefoot, as he has during most of their movements, donning his sandals only for prepared attacks and missions.

Atticus' dirty blond hair is longer than usual, streaked with dirt and gray, and parted down the middle, hanging low around his blond beard. He has a tan and brown patterned horseblanket poncho, and carries a staff across his shoulders with items strapped to it, including his backpack. Rosita follows him, also carrying a large pack, and barefoot, though she wears jeans and a red blouse bought during their journey, and she chose to be barefoot, preferring it.

Hermano is next to Atticus, wearing much the same as Adam, but keeping his sneakers on and with a dark red poncho instead, as well as a pair of knives and no axe. Alex is the last of the group, and in jeans and a t-shirt, his own tactical vest taken, barefoot and with a pair of knives on his hips, a tan poncho on.

"I think we're one too many to be the magnificent seven," he says with a smirk. "But the girl doesn't count, I think, so it's as good a term as any."

"Come, let's get you through customs, and into town," the Marshal says, leading the group of mixed riders and walkers. "I have an empty house near the Ranger's barracks for you, and you can leave in the morning, if your friends arrive. Your Lead Ranger in Houston had said he wanted to debrief in person."

"Praise God," Richard says with a laugh and look skyward. "I just want to go home."

Tasha sits in the Guild headquarters in the main conference room on the third floor. She had been asked to come by Roberts, the Chief Ranger, the Knight Protector from the Order, and an unnamed man in a suit that she thinks is from the federal government. They are all sitting around and not talking and it is grating on her nerves. Tea had been brought, and all the flunkies, guards and extra hangers on had been escorted from the room, and they sit alone, so she's getting anxious.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath, then idly glances around as she thinks over the high priority items on her to do list for the Clan, one item of which is a welcome home feast for Richard and his group. Her thoughts are interrupted as the phone on the table rings, and Roberts reaches across to the speaker on the center of the table.

"Chief Ranger Roberts," he says in greeting.

"This is Michaels," a familiar voice says, and Tasha shifts from her feet on the table in a relaxed posture to leaning forward with full attention on the speaker. "Who is in the room?"

"Myself, the Knight Protector, Mr. Smith, and Tasha Nash," Roberts says.

"Not to call you a liar, sir, but Tasha, you there?" he asks.

"I'm here," she says, smiling despite herself. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, darlin'," he says in return and she can hear his smile in his voice. "Is Roberts telling the truth?"

"We're in the secure conference room in the Guild, third floor," she says with a nod, recognizing that there is something serious going on.

"Mr. Smith, how did you and I meet?" Richard asks, and the dark haired man in the suit shifts uncomfortably.

"We had a disagreement, eight years ago," Smith says with a frown, pulling on his earlobe anxiously.

"Specifically, Smith," Richard says with a frown.

Smith sighs, "I called you an asshole in front of your Platoon after you called me out on being out of uniform. You pulled me behind headquarters and beat my ass, despite that I was a Captain."

"Because you were a Captain," Richard corrects, a smile in his voice. "Good, everyone's here. Sorry I've been gone, it wasn't my choice. I have been getting info, though, on what's been happening in my absence. And I heard that muggings have been added as well?"

"Five now, and dead and infected humans resulting," Tasha says with a frown. "We've got mixed groups going out, accountability has been tight across the Pack since the lockdown. It wasn't one of our people."

"It was the Dogs," Richard says with conviction. "Smith will confirm, he's still in and has current intel, but this fits their profile for an attack. Testing leadership, probing the methods and reactions, then stirring up dissent among the population against their target. They then try to get one of their natural enemies or a government body to do the dirty work."

"I've looked at your procedures and logs," Smith says with a nod at Tasha. "Sorry about lying about being with Texas State Investigations, but in truth, none of you are allowed to know who I am or where I work."

She frowns but nods, he adjusts how he sits and continues, "I have also looked at the evidence on the ground, and I have some forensic methods you don't. It wasn't Clan Cat or Houston Pack. It was Dogs. And Michaels is right on their methodology. This is their third major attack in the US. I'd like it to be the first failed attack."

"How do we do that?" Tasha asks with a frustrated growled. "We've been on the defensive since day one, and every lead goes nowhere. We can't take the fight to them, because we don't know who they are."

"That's where I come in," the dark skinned Knight Protector says with her arms crossed and an unhappy look on her face. "Mr. Smith can't disclose info on the Dogs, but I have discretion to, if I feel the need, and if the reward of doing so is worth it."

"Tasha, I need you to take Knight Rushman, and a couple others that she'll bring with her, and show her around our compound," he says over the phone, and she can hear the tension in his voice. "Not the other Clans', just ours. The Order needs to know that if they give me what I ask for, _I_ can keep the promises I'm making."

Tasha frowns and thinks hard on it, "Richard…"

She sighs and rubs her head in thought, then her face, looking to the side then at the speaker, "We've completed up to phase three on the compound."

There's a pause on the other side of the line, "All of phase three?"

"All of it," she affirms, glancing at the others in the room who have puzzled looks on their faces.

"Well," he says with a thoughtful tone. "Be smart about it, but they need to see what we can do."

"Okay," she says with a nod. "What else?"

"I should be back in a day or so," he says simply. "I think that Mr. Smith and the Knights should be satisfied with that. And I'm hoping Chief Roberts can keep the rest of the local fuzz off our backs?"

"I'd like to talk with Mr. Smith some more, to satisfy my curiosity, and to certify his credentials, but yeah, I can do that," he says with a nod and a glance at Smith.

"Okay," Richard says over the phone, then in a questioning tone. "Can I have the room alone with Ms. Nash, please?"

The others file out, and once the door is closed, Tasha picks up the receiver and crouches over on the table, "Richard?"

"I am _so_ ready to be home," he says with a sigh. "I enjoy missions, but this shit going on while I'm away is fucking destroying my calm."

"Doing it solo isn't a walk in the park either," she chuckles dryly. "I've had to kill a lot more people since you left. Killing our own people is stupid, and I wish they wouldn't test me."

"I understand, darlin'," he says with a sigh of his own. "But I should be home soon. Anything interesting in the Clan or Pack I need to know about so I'm prepared?"

She pauses in thought, and decides to keep the Pelos thing to herself, "Danny tried to claim Alpha slot, claimed you were dead. Tried to beat me in a challenge just before we got confirmation you got out and were alive."

"How did it go?" he asks, curious.

"Took him apart in a few minutes, most of the Clan watching because it was a petition day," she says with a sigh. "Then nailed him to the mast as we discussed. He took two days to die. The Order gave me a tip that Danny sold you out to the hunters in Columbia. I interrogated him, and he admitted to it, with one of his sons helping with the technical aspects. He's imprisoned at the Mansion with the Pack. We'll deal with him later."

"You really got the stadium and the stage up?" he asks with amusement in his tone.

"Idle hands are the tools of the devil," she says with a smile of her own. "The materials cost, but you had enough money in the bank, though your savings is not what it was. I hope you don't mind that I took it out, using the power of attorney."

"That's what it's for," he says calmly, soothingly, and she relaxes as she listens to his voice through the speaker of the handset.

"I miss you," she says with a deep sigh. "Please hurry home, I need to smell you."

He snorts and laughs on the other end, "I love you and will see you soon, hon."

"I love you, too," she replies, hanging up reluctantly.

Tasha arrives at Hoffman Resources after her meeting at the Guild, a three man security detail with her. She's outfitted similar to what she used to go on contract with, since a serious attack could come at any time, though her shirt is nicer than usual for the meeting arranged for today. It had been scheduled over a week ago, before the lockdown, and involves a small group of were-lions moving into town. They are from Oklahoma, and are moving their car dealership here, after a disagreement with the local authorities.

She'd tried digging information, but all she'd been able to glean was that it was a set of siblings, a male with two younger sisters. The man, Joshua Lennart, is in his early thirties and his sisters are a pair of years younger, their parents are dead. Their dealership hadn't been failing, but quite successful, and she wonders what had caused the rift.

She pauses outside the conference room, the rest of Hoffman's understaffed with all the shapeshifters gone, but the workload has gone down as well with shapeshifter businesses slowing as well. Two of her guards, Adam and another were-leopard, enter the room and after a moment, Tasha follows, Misha trailing. Standing on one side of the conference room furthest from the door are the three were-lions, the male near the head of the table. Tasha strides in and sits at the head of the table, taking charge while she studies the group.

The man is around six feet tall, with a lifter's physique, a square and solid jaw and a good enough looking face to her eye. He wears a pair of khakis and collared shirt with a gray jacket, and if she hadn't been upgrading her own wardrobe, she wouldn't recognize that it is an extremely expensive version of casual wear. The women with him are dressed in skirts and blouses, jackets to match, and both in charcoal gray. All three have long, light brown hair with gold streaking through, with Joshua Lennart's flowing free to shoulder level, the other two in a conservative tie at their necks.

"Good morning," she says with a nod, indicating for them to sit. "My name is Tasha Nash, I am the female Alpha for Clan Cat. Richard Michaels, my mate, is the Clan Alpha, but is out of town. Welcome to Houston."

"I am Joshua Lennart," the man says with an easy and beaming smile, she is sure it is meant to melt her in her shoes, but has the opposite effect. "These are my sisters, Lita and Katya."

"I'm going to be up front and blunt, Lennart," Tasha replies with a frown and a hard gaze at him. "Don't look at me like that again, ever. And if you do, pray that Richard doesn't see it, because he will not like it as just as badly or worse as I don't."

Lennart raises an eyebrow in surprise, then shrugs and leans back, "Very well. As for Clan and Pack membership, I am certain that something can be arranged."

As he says this, he pulls a thick envelope from his jacket pocket and onto the table, pushing it across to her. She looks at the envelope, then back at him, but doesn't touch it.

"Lennart, if you have an offer to make, a deal you want to cut for something, say it," she says flatly, glancing around at her people and the two hired merc security behind him, who she recalls from the Guild.

"I would think that is for behind closed doors," he says with a glance at the others in the room.

"My people don't talk, period," she says with a shake of her head. "But I'll save you the trouble, and lay things out for you. If you want to live in Houston, you have to join the Pack, period. If you don't, then pack your things and get going."

Lennart studies her intently with a baleful look which she doesn't look away from, and she returns with her own alpha stare, her eyes flashing gold. After a few long, tense breaths, during which the sisters are visibly afraid, the corner of his mouth twitches and he smiles an attempt at a disarming smile.

"Well, that isn't really up to you, then, is it?" he says with a smile, picking up the thick envelope and standing, Tasha matching the movement and all but growling at him. "I will take it up with the Pack Lord."

She watches as the man leaves the conference room, and when he is gone, she takes a breath to visibly relax herself. She shakes her head after a moment, then glances at Misha.

"I think I showed incredible restraint, in not hitting him," she says with a tight smile to lighten the mood.

"Immense," she agrees with a lofty nod, glancing at Adam.

Adam nods sagely with a suppressed smirk, "Godlike, even."

"Well, this is one problem Richard and I will share together, at least," she says, walking from the conference room with the three guards in tow.

"We got word?" Adam asks quickly, anxious to have the boss back so he has confirmation that he's doing good, still relatively new to the security position.

"He'll be here in a day or two," she says with a real, full smile. "He's in Texas now."

"So, the feast then?" Misha asks with a nervous and excited expression.

"Plan for tomorrow night," she says with a nod of her own and a smile, eager to see her mate.

Richard rides the horse he's on hard, galloping down the dirt road at a ground eating pace. He'd made the call this morning to the Houston Guildhouse from the Ranger house in San Antonio, having stopped there after leaving before dawn along a ley line in a magic engine vehicle. He, Alex and the Vikings had then taken horses and ridden hard east, stopping at way stations from the Pony Express to get fresh horses. The ride has been constant, and at the last way station there was only one fresh horse, so he'd taken it and continued on, only his axe and sword, as well as a messenger bag slung over a shoulder. It's past dusk, and he only hopes the horse doesn't stumble and break a leg in the dark.

Tasha sighs as she leans back in the owner's box of the stadium, looking down at the stadium beneath her. Shapeshifters are by nature nocturnal, and are working on setting up trestle tables and chairs, though the decorations will go up tomorrow. She leans back and drowses slightly, the night sky and stresses of the last weeks adding up. She's jarred from her doze by the clearing throat of her guard.

She sits up and rubs her eyes, stretching languidly, then adjusts her jacket, smoothing her blouse as well. She stands up and turns to the entrance from within the lower floors, and conceals her surprise at Lennart walking into view. She crosses her arms and glances at Will, her guard for the moment, and back at Lennart. He has a confident smile on his face, and like a viper he lashes out and grabs Will by the throat, then twisting and slamming him into the ground, hard.

Tasha pulls her saber as Lennart throws Will off the platform into the stadium proper. Tasha is not looking though, having begun slicing and attacking him. He leans back from her attacks, pulling his suit jacket off hastily as he dodges.

"Fire! I love that!" he yells with a smile on his face, wrapping the jacket around his arm and using it to deflect attacks. "I will enjoy beating it out of you!"

"Fuck you!" she yells, trying to keep her calm, but he captures her blade against his side and disarms her.

He shuffles to the side and tosses the blade away, it clattering down in the arena. Other shapeshifters are gathered around, now, and before they can intervene, Lennart roars.

"I am Joshua Lennart, and _I_ am your ALPHA!" he roars to the group around them, then backhanding Tasha as she tries to attack again.

She breaks through the railing and into the stands, and Lennart glares around at everyone with gold flashing in his eyes. He stares around, and the shapeshifters present cringe and glance at where Tasha is trying to pull herself up, her right arm hanging twisted at her side.

"Look at her!" he shouts around. "Barely keeping you afloat, and your Alpha missing! He ran away, he's a coward that couldn't handle the job!"

He's pulled a blade from the back of his belt, a six inch long challenge blade, "I am your Alpha now, your KING! Who dares challenge me? WHO?!"

There is silence in the stadium, and he grins as he looks around, faces slowly rising up to look at him with a surprised expression, and they shuffle back. He lowers his hands with a smile, he had known he would have to beat Tasha, but no Danny had been a pleasant surprise.

"They aren't looking at you," a voice says calmly from behind him, and he turns in a flash to find someone standing behind him, on the opposite side of the platform.

Richard is standing there in a sweat stained button down shirt, torn and beaten jeans, weapons belt on his hips holding a long handled gladius and an axe. His hair is short and his face scruffy, but Lennart recognizes him from the file folders.

"You made good time," Lennart says, holding the knife to the side. "Odds were you would die, and if you survived, it would take two months to get back."

"They underestimated me," he says in return as he absently kicks his cowboy boots off. "Do you want to surrender now? I won't promise we won't kill you, but I'll make the interim less painful."

"I am going to kill you, and deliver your quivering heart to my master," Lennart says with a snarl, gold flashing in his eyes.

Richard nods absently as he unbuckles his belt and tosses it to the side, but keeping a short knife in hand, not having a six inch blade with him.

"I am Alpha," Richard continues, speaking louder for the stadium of people to hear. "You come into my den, assault my people, and claim my seat. You are not even Pack, to make such a challenge."

"I AM A KING!" Lennart roars back at him, the two circling around each other on the uncovered platform of the owner's box. "I have been denied before, and I will not be denied again!" he growls at Richard, then lunges at him.

The man's anger fuels his strength, but Richard does not meet it head on, instead diving below and slashing upwards. They roll to their feet opposite each other, Lennart with a shallow gash across his thigh, first blood to Richard.

"A king without a kingdom is just a man," Richard taunts back at the larger were-lion. "I am unimpressed. I expected, well, more from the self-proclaimed king and alpha."

Lennart attacks again, this time lower and a series of attacks that keep Richard from simply diving to the side. Richard blocks, ducks and avoids the blade, his own sinking in and drawing shallow gashes across Lennart's forearms and thighs, a pair on his chest. One block he transitions to a wrist and arm lock, pivots his hips then kicks out explosively, connecting with Lennart's hips. The larger man is rocked backwards, through the opening in the railing, and tumbles down the long stairway.

Richard hops onto the stairs and walks casually after Lennart, the short bladed knife to his side. Lennart rises near the base of the stairs, Tasha having moved away and now in a cluster with a few others helping tend her injuries. Richard notes that Lennart has lost his knife, and he drops his own blade as he walks down the stairs as Lennart roars and snarls, shifting and growing into a half-lion warrior form, standing at nine feet tall. A thick main of golden brown hair wreaths his leonine head as he roars at the crowd and then at Richard, specks of saliva landing at his feet.

"You are not worthy!" Lennart roars at him. "I am a warrior born! I am a KING! You can barely think as an animal, and cannot match me!"

Richard removes his shirt casually and tosses it aside, revealing a leaner body than when he left. He had only a pair of black stripes before he left, but now he has numerous black lines and puckers on his skin, scar tissue from silver or magical injuries healed over during his sojourn.

"You people keep underestimating me," he replies, "You don't even know what you're reading when you look at my file. You just can't fathom that I was hunting monsters in high school for extra money as a human."

His anger is surfacing and his eyes flashing gold as he shifts from a human to his own hybrid warrior form. He is now a nearly seven foot tall upright tiger, heavy claws on his hands and feet, tail lashing angrily behind him. He roars down at the were-lion glaring at him from down the stairs.

"You claim to be a king, but I am KHAN!" he roars in a deep voice, barely understood.

They roar at each other for a moment, then they both charge. Lennart leaps up and Richard jumps just after, and his leap takes him over his larger opponent. He grabs a handful of the lion's mane, pivoting and slashing with his claws at Lennart's back. Bloody rents are opened over the narrow cuts from before, and Richard twists to the side as Lennart spins and attacks him in turn in the air.

He rakes a glancing blow on Richard's shoulder, and they both land in a crouch, low and glaring at each other. They close on each other again, but on their feet and slashing, kicking. Lennart is attacking more and Richard is dodging, blocking and giving ground, now backing up to the arena below. He turns and hops over the rail after avoiding a lunging slash from Lennart, and the were-lion follows. In the arena below, with flat open space to maneuver, Richard dodges and avoids a few attacks, then latches onto Lennart's wrist before he can pull it back.

He digs his own claws in and lunges low as he twists the arm, and Lennart shifts his stance to keep his arm from being dislocated. Richard leads with his legs and scissor kicks Lennart to land hard on his back. Richard rolls and shifts, starting in on an arm bar, but instead simply tearing his claws viciously up the arm before Lennart can attack him. Rolling to his feet, Richard hops sideways, Lennart having managed a deep gouge along his left hindquarter.

The were-lion pushes himself to his feet, his right arm limp at his side, filleted open to the bone and bleeding profusely on the ground. Richard circles around, his stride strong and even despite the pain in his side and the bleeding open wound on his leg, showing no weakness. Lennart doesn't hesitate, but dashes and attacks at him, knowing he is running out of time and that the life is flowing out if him with the bleeding arm.

Richard ducks and pushes the attack to the side, but follows behind the were-lion and pounces on his back, a very different approach to his previous tactics. His hands dig deep into the lion's shoulders, tearing deep to the bone, and Richard flexes and twists as he rides the bucking lycanthrope to the ground. Lennart arcs his back and twists, trying to throw him off or crush a limb with his jaws, and again Richard does the unexpected. Richard lets go with his left hand a grabs the lion's jaw where the joint is, and digs his thumb claw into the flesh at the joint, grabbing the bone like a handle.

Lennart thrashes and twists, but Richard has dug his own claws on his toes into the lion's rear and as they fell to the ground, he rolled to his side and now his back. Now Richard has the were-lion held over him, arched and stretched, a firm grip on the right shoulder and left jaw from behind. Flexing and stretching, Richard pulls with the frustration and anger that has been building for the last weeks, and tears the jaw from the socket, tossing Lennart to the side.

Richard stands with the large lower jaw clasped in his monstrous hand as Lennart twitches in the remnants of a broken table. The bubbles of blood slow and the body twitches as the blood loss and trauma sinks in, more than even the Lyc-V virus can compensate for, and dies with a wet wheeze.

Richard turns and looks around at the stadium, most of the Clan having gathered in the time since Tasha had been attacked and he appeared. He takes a breath to steady himself, glancing at the jawbone in hand and tosses it aside, then turns and takes in the whole of the group. He concentrates before speaking, the effort of being understood in warrior form difficult still.

"I am Alpha not by right of blood, or conquest," he says in a deep, resonant voice. "I am Alpha because I lead, and I have worked hard to be worthy of the responsibility placed upon me. The Pack, and the Clan, have prospered since I arrived. There are hard times to come, but we will meet them, together."

Tasha has come into the arena now, her arm lashed into a splint and her jacket gone, but her sword back on her hip. He places an oversized, clawed hand gently on her shoulder as he continues to speak.

"I promise you, so long as I draw breath, I will not quit, I will not give up on my people, the Clan, and the Pack," he says, turning around and addressing the nearly three hundred people in the stadium now. "You are my family, and whatever the future brings, we will meet them together."

There is a pause as he finishes, and after a moment, a single voice rises above the others, chanting, "Khan, khan, khan," over and over, others joining in until the entire stadium is chanting and cheering, and Richard rumbles in his chest in reaction. He looks down at Tasha, her good arm holding his large one, and he grins a feline smile, then roars in triumph into the night.

"A couple days?" Tasha says to him with a slight growl to her voice as he rinses off in the gravity shower by the barn.

It is nearing dawn, and she holds her left arm tight to her side, in jeans and a t-shirt, having rinsed and changed quickly while he had spoken with others from the Clan. She'd also been healed by their med-mages, so though her arm is weak and slightly sore, she isn't as bad off as Richard. He is now in human form again, having shifted and turned back, but still covered in blood and with new black marks on his body from the recent healing. The cold water causes goosebumps on his body, and he shudders slightly at the cold, but as the last of the blood is rinsed off, he pulls the chain to turn it off. He towels off quickly and pulls on a pair of sweatpants Tasha holds out to him.

"I'm sorry about that," he says with a grimace as he towels and dresses. "I had guessed there was more going on, internal to the Pack and Clan, and I figured that they would attack before I got back. I knew they had an estimate on my escaping and getting back. I needed to get back before that, and this confirms my suspicions that some from the outside are involved."

Tasha nods her head slowly as they walk towards the house, "The Rangers, the Feds and the Order. Somebody snitched, us or them."

"You've been keeping track internally," he says with a thoughtful frown and a shrug. "I'll check it against my experiences and connections, and we can see if it's still internal or an outside source."

Richard pauses on the back porch and looks around with a sigh, smiling as he takes in the milling people during the last couple hours before dawn.

"It's good to be home," he says, turning to her and wrapping her in his arms, taking in the scent of her hair, and the rest of her.

"I missed you," she says with a growl into his neck, nuzzling him. "Let's get inside and fool around, already. If I have to wait any longer, everyone will get a show right here."

Richard laughs, then reaches down and picks her up, carrying her into the house as she chuckles throatily in turn.

Richard rolls muzzily in the covers of his bed, reaching out and finding and empty spot beside him. Usually he was the first up, but Tasha seems to have beaten him today. Despite having only a couple hours' sleep, he rolls out of bed, showers and dresses, secretly relieved to have his own clothes back. He can handle stolen cloth and impromptu gear and clothing, but his stuff is so much better and more comfortable. He wears a green collared shirt and a brown leather vest, but padding barefoot from the bedroom to find Nita in the kitchen.

"She is on the barn roof, having breakfast," the latino woman says with a duck of her head, acknowledging Richard's position of authority. "I made a tray for you when I heard the shower, heavy on protein and calories," she sets down a platter of steak on the tray on the table.

Richard pauses for a moment, then simply nods and picks up the tray, and walks outside, then follows the cobble trail to the beams sticking out of the barn. He ascends the makeshift stairs, careful to keep balance and not slip in front of all the Clan members camped around the area, and walks onto the platform beside Tasha. She smiles up at him from her own cross legged position with the tray in front of her, sipping her tea and eating.

"Good morning," she says with a smile.

"Good morning, indeed," he grins back, leaning down to kiss her lingeringly before setting down his tray and lying down propped on an elbow beside it to eat. "This is different."

"It's been kind of a ritual, since the lockdown," she says, gesturing at the camped out Clan spread out in the Bastion below them. "It's helped keep the peace, I think."

"An overt display of calm and unconcern, despite others' claims that the sky is falling," he says with a smile. "Smart woman," he says to her with a smile.

"It was an accident," she admits with a smirk, laying a hand on the back of his neck as he edges closer while picking apart his steak and eggs. "But it has worked. I am glad you are back though, it was getting tough without you."

"Well," he says, taking a bite of hamsteak. "Fill me in with the details of the integration of the Clan and how things are going."

An hour later, he is reclining with his head in her lap as she lazily rubs his scruffy chin. She's told him about the attacks, the details of families in the Clan that have had issues, as well as the progress in the construction of the fort.

"The Bastion, huh?" he asks rhetorically, frowning in thought, nodding. "I like it. Has a sturdy feel to it."

"I don't think I like this," Tasha says as she rubs her thumb on his rough cheek. "You need to shave, and no goatee, either, it won't suit you," she says with a narrowed look down at him, then leaning down and kissing him tenderly.

"Yes, dear," he says with a smile as she rises back up. "But I think it will have to wait until later. Today, we have an attack to plan, coordinate, and execute before this evening."

Tasha narrows her eyes at him with a frown, "You know something I don't."

"A hunch more than anything," he says with a sigh and shake of his head. "Things have come to a head, with the attacks, Danny's conspiring with the enemy, my disappearing and then Lennart showing up. It's not a set of coincidences. They know by now he failed, and will be activating their backup plan, I would be."

"What's their backup plan?" she asks, tilting her head in thought, looking out at the Clan.

"An attack, large scale, I would guess on the Mansion," he says with pursed lips. "Probably with proxies, as with before. But we don't have much time, and I only hope that Adam has kept up on training and security while I've been gone."

"He's been vigilant," she assures him, rubbing his chest through his vest. "He's been worried you would not approve of how he's been running things since you've been gone. He's looking for approval."

"Well," he says with a grunt, sitting up, "I gave him a task of planning an attack on the Mansion before I disappeared and those first two dogs attacked me, and it looked decent then. I'll make some refinements, and that will be our red plan."

"Red plan?" Tasha asks, not knowing the meaning and rising with him as they both collect the trays and remains of breakfast.

"The enemy's plan," he says. "In this case, the enemy plans to attack the Mansion. I make a plan to do that, thinking like the enemy, then attack that plan. There's only so many ways to attack a position like that, and I can make a pretty good guess how they'll do it. We attack them before they attack the Mansion."

"That's… devious," she says with a chuckle. "I like it."

"I thought you would," he says with a laugh of his own, looking out at the mid-morning activity in the Bastion. "It is good to be home."

"No place like it," Tasha smirks in response, following him down the beams.

Richard looks at the gathering shapeshifters as he exits the front door of his house. He is in a heavy leather field vest, leather jacket and pants, a double layer of silk shirts underneath. His axe is on his hip, his bow on a shoulder, his quiver and sword across his back. There are fifty-four shapeshifters gathered in six person groups, small enough to be familiar with each other, large enough to cover each other's backs and be effective, in his opinion. They've been working in these groups since he'd taken over the Clan, and practicing in the fighting styles he's approved. Some use the short swords, some long swords, some axes and some knives, but every one of them has learned a melee weapon, not just their natural claws and teeth.

He runs his hand over his dirty blond stubble on his head, then over the short beard on his face. He could have shaved it, being home and having the supplies and time, but it feels wrong. He needs to finish this campaign, this odyssey, then he can clean up properly. A set of horses ride into the front of the Bastion, Alex leading the group that had travelled far to find him and bring him back, plus their extra passenger.

"The girl is under my protection," Richard calls loudly to the assembled Clan members, who nod in deference to the announcement. Rosita is unlikely to reveal her beastkin status, but his statement will cause anyone to pause, and await his return, just in case.

"We got horses from a nearby town," Alex says as they all dismount, the group ragged, dirty and tired looking. "We walked there, got tired of waiting."

"Are you all rested?" he asks, looking at them all, mentally focused on the NeoVikings, though he looks around at them all.

"Well enough," Jark says, his brother Floki nodding agreement. "Is there a battle to go to?"

"An enemy is going to attack the Mansion," he says simply as Tasha approaches from behind him, her own light brown leather outfit on, tied closed with twine like his so if she shifts the leather isn't ruined and it is discarded relatively easily. "We are going to intercept them."

"Magic is up," Jark says with a look at Floki, who adjusts his bow and arrows. "But we are with you to the end of this, Richard Tigerskin."

"Good to hear," he says, then gestures them to the barn. "Go get new mounts, we're leaving in twenty minutes."

Tasha watches them go with a hand on the saber on her side and speaks in a low tone for only him to hear, "They are exhausted, especially the humans. They will be a liability, I think."

"When going into battle, it is best to bring a weapon that is tested and true," he says in a sing-song voice, an indication that he is quoting something. "A new blade may be flawed, weak or unbalanced, but a tried and true blade, that has seen battle, is tested and loyal. That is a blade you should always bring with you, when you go to war."

"We are going to war," she agrees softly, but steps into him a bit more, and murmurs softer, barely audible to even him. "But there is more, isn't there? You are looking in the shadows, what do you see?"

"Danny wasn't alone, I don't think," Richard says in a whisper as he kisses her neck softly. "If there was one mole, there may be others. From other Clans, from without the Pack. I trust those men, and they will not betray me. They are my honor guard."

Tasha nods her understanding and kisses him tenderly on the lips, then holds him close, her head on his chest, "Why did we take this job?"

Richard chuckles, "It was your idea, if I recall."

She gives him a quick, playful jab in the abs, and she smiles up at him, "True enough, but things are better, now, don't you think?"

Richard looks around, frowning in thought, then walks over to a cluster of his people, a few of the teams congregating and talking in low tones before they leave to fight. They quiet down as he arrives and looks around at their faces, they look at him and nod their heads, avert their eyes, but he sees no fear. He sees respect, some fear, but confidence overlaying that.

"Are you glad I'm back?" he asks a younger man in the crowd, pointing at him in a relaxed manner, his tone easy.

"Shit yeah, boss," the man says with a snort and a smile, shaking his head ruefully, he's probably in his early twenties. "The Nimir-ra was doing good, but I feel better going into a fight with you there," he says with a nod to which everyone nods and mutters assent.

"Nimir-ra?" he asks with a puzzled look, glancing at Tasha then back at the group with a bit of a smile.

"It's Indian, as in the continent," the young man says with a rueful smile. "At least that's what I'm told. It's supposed to mean 'queen'."

"How's work been, since I've been gone," he asks, but adds quickly. "I didn't go willingly, it was a tough situation."

"We heard, Khan," a woman next to the young man says, he thinks they are together by their body language. "We were worried it would all fall apart at first, but the Nimir-ra wouldn't let anyone fall to the wayside. We moved into the Bastion, and she gave us jobs, kept us busy, paid us even. She made sure we kept ourselves together, we watched after each other."

"We're family," Richard says with a smile at the group, "that's what family does. We take care of each other."

He looks back meaningfully at Tasha with a warm smile, who ducks her head and has the touch of a blush at her cheeks, and he returns his focus to the group.

"I'm going to talk to everyone in a few minutes," he says to them, looking around. "Spread the word, I'll be speaking from the top of the gate, and want everyone ready to hear me."

He returns to Tasha's side, who is avoiding eye contact, "They call you Nimir-ra?"

"They call you Khan," she replies in a nearly flat tone, trying to keep the conversation from continuing.

"Still, queen is a good title," he says with a smile at her, playfully tapping her on the shoulder. "I think it sounds good."

"Khan sounds better," she says with a smirk as they walk casually up the stairs to the top of the gate.

Richard only smiles, looking around at the gathering Clan, taking a deep breath and centering himself. He hates public speaking, it had been a personal fear of his before he joined the Army, and although training and practice had taken the uncomfortable aspect from it, deep down he still dreads it.

"I often say that we, the Clan and the Pack, are a family," he says loudly, the enhanced hearing of his audience focused on him as he speaks. "We look out for one another, help each other out, and police our own when necessary," he gestures over his shoulder towards the ship and the remains of Danny out in front of the Bastion.

"Not long ago, I was taken by people who wanted to kill me for sport, they were hired while others were steered and manipulated by someone who wanted to rule our family as though it were his own personal fiefdom," he says, pointing at the stadium where the fight had taken place. "And right now, as we speak, another force is out there, gathering in the night, seeking to destroy our family, the Pack, by attacking the Mansion and cutting the head off of our hard won family."

"They call us monsters, abominations, inhuman creatures of lust and fury," he says in a stoic voice, and he shakes his head sadly at the last, his presentation shifting from sentimental at the start and now seguing into passion. "I, better than anyone, can tell you that it is not the tiger in me that makes me monstrous, it is the man. We _are_ men, women, just as anyone else, and we will have Liberty, and we will fight for what is ours, what we deserve. We fight now for freedom, not from tyranny or oppression," he pauses, his voice rising as his emotions catch him in their sway, feeling the hundreds of eyes focused on him now.

"But from obliteration, my brothers and sisters. We are fighting for our right to exist, as people. For make no mistake, the enemy out there, they would see us chained, enslaved, or worse, driven into extinction," he says as his hard eyes scan the crowd, and they do not look down now, but square their shoulders and raise their chins, accepting the implied challenge of the unnamed enemy.

"They have succeeded elsewhere, and their victims went into that good night, some quietly, others violently, but they have gone. And now they come for us, because they think we are weak, that we are susceptible to their machinations and their attacks, but we are not," he snarls the last.

"We are finished waiting for things to happen, reacting to our enemy. Since their first attack, I have been watching, stalking them, and not long ago, I knew who our enemy was, and what they would do next," he tells them, speaking energetically now, their attention riveted. "I knew a challenger would come, and I know that as we speak, they are moving against the Mansion, to cripple the Pack. But we are done stalking, now is the time to strike!"

He raises his arm with his axe in it high, and the crowd cheers. He holds it with an angry, determined look then turns and hops off of the gate to the road, leading his fighters to the battle waiting for them.

Richard looks calmly over the clearing below him, the crescent moon giving a pale light to the scrub grass and occasional thigh high patches of grass. This is one of the sites he'd agreed that the enemy, the Iron Dogs or their mercenary proxies, would use as their last rally point before assaulting the Mansion. But so far, no activity, and that irks him. It means that either they aren't attacking the Mansion, or he's at the wrong site. If they don't attack, he'll have to fight them later, and if it's the wrong site, then that means Tasha or Adam is at the site and he'll have to run to in order to be a part of the battle.

The magic wave crashes, and he blinks as he readjusts his focus, looking again at the scene before him. He finishes looking, and an itch, indescribable, unable to be reached, a scratch he can't get to…

Richard stands up and absently gives a hand signal, and his personal guard, the two NeoVikings, Alex, Atticus, Mitchell, Hermano follow him as he starts jogging from the site they had been lying in wait to ambush the enemy force. He picks up speed, jogging then running full out as the instincts he's followed as a soldier and merc have pushed him to actions that have allowed him to survive. The feeling solidifies as he runs and he pulls his radio to his lips.

"All teams, regroup, rally at the Bastion Patrol Bases, now," he says tersely. "Possible attack on Bastion, not Mansion, say again, attack likely on Bastion, not Mansion."

He runs full throttle through the sage and brush, and soon outdistances all but Alex and Tasha, who keep up with him, if barely. He arrives at the ship outside the Bastion, breathing deep as Tasha and Alex gasp for air, and he surveys the land between him and the wall with detached professionalism. Before him is an army, small in that it is only a couple hundred, but an army in that it is organized and preparing siege positions and works against the Bastion. He assesses the field quickly and with no reservation, clenching his jaw as he makes his decision and turns to Tasha and Alex.

"Stay here, rally a dozen, then attack the siege engines," he says, pointing at Alex. "The next dozen, take with you and attack the most mobile, dangerous looking group, ask Adam for his opinion as to which way to go."

"You're not waiting," Tasha says, still breathing deep to catch her breath.

"No, I need to disrupt, and buy the time for you two to bring the rest of the Clan's fighter's," he says with a shake of his head, glancing at the array of the enemy to attack properly.

Tasha looks at him as he gazes on the enemy positions, as he assesses the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy and suddenly realizes an aspect of her mate she had realized internally but not consciously. Her mate is born for war, not just born but raised and bred for it, and he cannot turn from that path. In that single moment, the world hangs before her, breathless.

Does she accept him for what he is, a killer, murderer, soldier? Does she reject him for his nature, his training? Or does she accept him for what he is, what he strives to be, a patriarch of a larger family, the Clan and the Pack? She has seen him mostly as a man, trying to do what has been placed on him, to rise to the challenge, but now she watches as he rises past the expectations and meets the obstacle before him, to act as a true Alpha.

A part of her cringes, she's part of a matriarchal society within the Pride, the females in charge of the society, and the thought of a male in charge grates on her. But another part, a human part and even a part of the lion within her, yearns for the belief of a male that will stand the test of time and be a true mate, a real leader of her Pride and beyond. As she thinks this, she grits her teeth, and nods internally, Richard oblivious as he looks past everything to the tactical situation.

She smirks slightly, nods and turns to the straggling shapeshifters that have followed their Alphas back to the Bastion and starts to organize groups and teams, knowing that fighting effectively is just as important as fighting quickly.

Richard is oblivious, though, creeping and stalking through the night, his bow in hand as he moves closer and closer to the enemy positions. He is fifty yards away when the unmistakable _chrump_ of a mortar round firing goes skyward, and he pulls an arrow and sites in on the medium mortar team before him. He fires quickly but unhurried, dropping the four team members in ten seconds, the firing of the mortar having masked his actions. But it is the only free shots he gets as an alarm is shouted, and whistles are blown around the enemy position, signaling an attack.

He drops to the ground as rifle rounds zing past him, the snap hiss of their passage that the shots are accurate, and he rolls then darts to the side, seeking cover as he fires another pair of arrows on the run. His opponent is attacking his home at night, during a tech wave, capitalizing on the open position of the Bastion and the low tech base of the Cat Clan. This runs through his mind as he dives and combat rolls into a slight dip in the ground, the bullets whizzing over his head as he crawls fast to where he can pop out and move again. His enemy knows their strengths and weaknesses, as well as the plan he had for attacking the force attacking the Mansion, which leads him to one conclusion. There is a spy still in the ranks.

He is up and firing again, the mortar firing again, joined by another, and the explosive shells landing in the Bastion and near the ship. His enemy has planned for an attack on his position, and Richard can see that the men shooting at him with M4 rifles are behind cover, and a medium machine gun spits rounds at him, tracers flying past. He targets that machine gun, sliding on a knee and gritting his teeth as a round slices through his outer thigh. His arrows hit their targets, however, and the gun goes quiet, though the sharper pops of the regular rifles are still firing.

He leaps high, a moving target in the night sky, and though rounds crack around him, none hit him. Firing at night is difficult, and most shooters tend to fire high and miss their target, and a moving target at night is even harder. The leader of this group is experienced in war, but he would bet that the troops are mercs pulled from some other area, likely from out of Texas and imported for this attack, as none from the area would dare attack him. He lands in a small cluster of men, and he strikes viciously and with no mercy, cracking his bow across one man's head, shoving the broken arc into another's shoulder before snap kicking him brutally in the hips, the man flying back from the power of it.

He grabs the third by his tactical vest and hurls him into the darkness, out towards the perimeter, the man screaming in fear as his feet leave the ground. Richard returns his attention to the first and finishes him off with a knife to the throat, then drops to the ground as bullets start zipping past him. He rips the M4 from a dead merc's hands, pulling magazines from the tactical vest's pockets and shoving them in his own. A bullet strikes his shoulder, a hammer punch that doesn't penetrate the reinforced vest, but painful nonetheless.

He rolls to the side, in one place for too long, scrambles behind a body from the direction he is taking fire, forty yards off. He pops up to the side, firing on instinct with the stolen M4 and sends a dozen rounds at his attacker. His rounds are accurate but he is saturating the target, as he's not zeroed with this rifle, and hasn't the time to figure out the one shot positioning of his rounds. He shifts to another target, and another dozen rounds go out, the merc twitching as multiple bullets hit him.

Richard jumps back up and moves at an angle, closing at the rhythmically firing mortars now eighty yards from him, but with two dozen enemy between him and it. A grenade explodes where he had just been, and he sprints hard to the side, putting more distance between him and where he last was, hoping that the dim night and building chaos will help cloak his movements. He nearly stumbles when large floodlights turn on, bathing the entire enemy perimeter in artificial light.

He adjusts his path immediately, acknowledging that the light is the biggest threat to him and his people. Attacking a prepared defensive position like this, even lightly prepared as it is, would be suicide without the cover of the night. He leaps again as rounds crack around him, and he feels a pair punch into his vest, nearly knocking the air from him. He lands in a near awkward stumble at the base of one of the six floodlights, and he doesn't try anything fancy, but dives and tackles the aluminum stand the lights are balanced on.

He crashes to the ground, momentarily tangled in the power cord, then bathed in a darker light as the power is interrupted. He scrambles up and sprints to a small cluster of mercs who are trying to target him, and he rips out the last ten rounds in his magazine at them, causing their aim to falter and miss him, though dirt plumes kick up around him. He swings the rifle like a club and shatters it against one of the merc's heads, the stock shattering with the impact. He ducks under a pistol shot from another, the round missing by inches and he is now inside the man's reach.

He punches a drawn dagger quickly into the man's chest, then across his face, then throws it at the next merc who is aiming at him but hesitated at shooting for fear of hitting his mate. The dagger hits with such force in the man's chest that he is thrown back a pair of feet. Richard turns back to the man he had stabbed and shoulder checks him hard before he can fall from the cuts he'd delivered and the man flies back the few yards into the last man in this cluster, the two landing in a confused heap. Richard is on them in a flash and finishes the stunned merc and pulls another rifle from his victims quickly, desperate to get to cover as more rounds start to crack around him.

Tasha watches in awe at the chaos that is enveloping the enemy position. Richard is attacking like a man possessed, with little regard for his own safety, relying on speed and audacity to carry him through the enemy's ranks. So far it has worked, and she watches as a second floodlight dies within the enemy position. Alex motions for her attention, and she turns to find over a dozen shapeshifters with him, four with bows in hand, one with a rifle.

"Move to where the light is darkest, then attack," she says, pointing to where Richard had breached the enemy line.

"It is already weak, don't move stupidly, take your time and get a solid foothold," Adam says from within the group, the one of them with a rifle. "Once we get in closer, dart in and grab a rifle or gun from one of the downed enemy. It's unlikely that they have many silver rounds, but a bullet will still kill if it hits you in the right place or often enough. The Khan is distracting them, don't do as he does, you aren't that good yet."

"Once inside the perimeter, go to the mortars," Tasha adds, ducking as another 81mm mortar round lands a couple dozen yards away. "Our Clan's families are in the Bastion, subjected to this as well, and we need to stop it."

She glances around and places a reassuring hand on Adam's and Alex's shoulders, making eye contact with the other Clan members gathered, "For the Clan."

"For the Clan," they repeat, then follow Alex through the shadows as another floodlight in the perimeter dies.

Once they are away, she turns to Adam, who has remained, "They knew where to hit us, how, and what method would be most effective. They know."

"I agree," he says quietly with a nod. "We have a spy in our midst."

Richard roars as he hefts up the mortar tube, having finally closed the distance amid stiff resistance. He hurls the tube through the air, and it crashes and rolls fifty yards away, knocking over the other mortar position. He is thrown to his face before he can watch the accuracy of his throw, however, as someone has shot him in the back, and with a larger caliber weapon than the rank and file have. He recognizes the burn in his back, silver, and the pain of a shotgun wound, he's been hit with buckshot and it penetrated his armor.

He spits blood to the ground as he looks up and around, his mind a bit fuzzy. Feline shapes are dashing within the perimeter, reinforcements from the clan have arrived, and he smiles to himself. He scrabbles to this feet and ducks behind a nearby crate, splinters flying from another round of buckshot nearly hitting him. He peeks around the edge of the crate, and furrows his brow as he sees a large man in demolition armor standing a dozen yards away, an automatic shotgun in his hands.

"Come on out, kitty cat," the big man says, then fires another round at Richard, who ducks under the protection of the crate again. "I knew you'd come first, and that you'd be a tough nut to crack. I don't give a shit about these other assholes, I just want the bounty the boss put on your head."

Richard dives out from cover and hurls a heavy knife at the man, who deflects it with the gun in his hands. The gun cracks under the strain of steel on steel and the man drops the broken weapon, smoothly drawing a big pistol without hesitation. Richard is on his feet and dashing forward, eager to get inside the man's reach. He is a split second to slow, the burning silver in his back weakening him, and he takes a round to the shoulder, throwing him to his back. His armor had slowed the huge round, but it still penetrated at such short a range and with a magnum load. He can feel the burn of the silver slug in his shoulder, but he mentally pushes the pain away as he rolls after falling.

He rolls and scrabbles faster than the merc had expected, and the second shot misses, then Richard is at the man's feet and he tumbles to the ground as Richard kicks at the man's legs. Richard lunges from the ground and lands on top of the armored man, blood pouring from the half dozen cuts and gunshot wounds he's sustained. The pain and blood loss rob him of his usual finesse and thought out attacks, and he simply pounds the man mercilessly with his drawn kurki, holding the man's collar with one hand as he chops again and again with the hardened steel. A dozen strikes later the armor is useless and the bent and dulled kurki buries itself into the man's head.

Richard stops swinging, panting, his ears hammering blood in a roar he can't hear anything through. He glances down and can see red pouring form his stomach, and he tries to push himself to his feet, only to fall on his side on the ground. His eyes land on the pistol in the merc's hand, the slide locked back on an empty magazine. The man had shot him while he'd been chopping at him, that's where he'd taken the hits to the stomach from. He takes a breath and tries to move, but his legs won't respond, and the pain of his wounds seem less somehow, not as painful.

A part of his mind screams at him that he's dying, the dulling of pain a sign that he has been mortally wounded. But he can't hear it over the ringing in his ears, feeling like his head is wrapped in cotton, and he claws at the ground, trying to push himself into a sitting or kneeling position. He needs to get up, his people need him to be strong. Tasha needs him to be strong…

Tasha finds Richard clawing at the corner of a crate of Mortar rounds, blood leaking from multiple wounds on his body. She fights not to scream at finding him in this condition, and instead kneels urgently next to him, turning him to face her. He seems confused until he locks eyes with her, and his jaw sets.

"Silver," he gasps, a hand grabbing her braided head roughly, and she remembers the first time they met, and she doesn't resist.

"Hold on, we'll cut it out, then you need to shift," she says, glancing quickly at Hermano who is pulling out a short narrow blade and starts to work on Richard's back.

Richard doesn't move or acknowledge him as he holds her head and shoulder, and she can feel the slight shudder and weakening of his grip. He's bleeding out, dying in her arms again.

"I need a medic!" she screams to the sky. "And B positive blood! NOW!"

"I- I love you, Tasha," he says weakly, blood bubbling from his lips.

She growls and rips his shirt open, helping Hermano get to the wounds, and venting her own frustration as a pair of their people arrive at their side. She lowers him to the ground fully, laid out, and he is unresisting, having lost his grip on her head and shoulder, though he still stares at her face and eyes.

"You are _not_ leaving me," she says forcefully, fighting not to cry. "Do you hear me?"

His face is relaxing and she strokes his cheeks in desperation, "Don't go, Richard, don't go. I need you to hold on."

"I don't have B positive," the clan member with medical training and an aid kit says. "I'll pump him with saline, but he's bleeding too fast. And I only have two bags."

Hermano and another shifter are pressing hard on the wounds visible, trying to slow the bleeding enough to allow the replacement fluid to be effective and let him start healing.

"He needs blood, not saline," she growls angrily. "Tap me, put my blood in him."

"You're A positive," the medic says, shaking her head. "It won't work."

"He just needs enough to keep him alive enough to heal," she says angrily, ripping off her sleeve and presenting her arm to the medic. "He'll survive the mixed type, but first he has to survive the silver and the wounds."

The medic hesitates then complies, inserting the IV in her arm and connecting it to Richard's, then pulling out a pump to push the blood from her to him. Tasha watches anxiously as her blood fills the tube connecting to Richard, and the man she loves' eyes start to lose focus on her face, though his lips move slightly in an attempt to speak.

Richard rises into consciousness as though rising from deep in the ocean, a buzzing in his ears as the night comes into focus around him. He becomes aware of his body gradually, but quickly as the deep, throbbing aches of his wounds come into focus. He recognizes the throbs as healing gunshot wounds, and a part of him wishes he wasn't familiar with what that feels like. He turns his head towards Tasha, who has tears running down her cheeks, and glances briefly at where Hermano and another person, Sophie, he thinks her name is, are putting heavy pressure on his wounds.

"Fucker shot me," he rasps hoarsely. "With silver," he continues as he blinks away the muzziness that surrounds him. "In the back with buckshot, the shoulder and stomach with a Desert Eagle," he twitches his left shoulder. "Dig out the slug from my shoulder, it still burns."

Tasha runs her hand over his head, her fingers a welcome feeling on his scalp, "I almost lost you. We had to push bad blood into you."

"Fuck, that's gonna suck," he mutters as a shiver runs through his body, his system reacting to different blood that isn't quite right.

"We're mopping up the last of the enemy troops," Tasha says with a glance around them. "We should be able to treat you properly in a few minutes."

"Save your blood," he says with a gesture of his hand that isn't injured. "I'm out of the woods. You need to lead our people. I'll be along when I can."

"Are you sure?" she says, stroking his cheek again anxiously.

"Give me a kiss then go," he says with a smirk. "I'll live, I promise."

She leans down and kisses him passionately but gently, then stands and strides off, his blood on her lips.

Richard stands on weak knees, his personal guard around him as he surveys the field around him, the dead mercenaries piled to the side and his people stripping the bodies. All in all, nearly two hundred rifles and pistols captured, a dozen machine guns of various calibers, and the two mortars, though one is too damaged to be used again, his enraged throw having broken the tube. Tactical vests, knives, swords and axes, radio equipment and other various odds and ends, plus ammo. The damage to his own forces had been four killed and numerous injured, though it would have been far worse had he not penetrated the perimeter early and paved the way for the breach and assault by Alex and Tasha.

"We've cut off the hands of those that look like leadership," Tasha says as she walks up to him, exhaustion painted across her face. "We'll look them up through back channels, see if they are in the system."

"Are you okay?" he asks softly when she is in arm's reach, gently stroking her cheek with his right hand, his left lashed to his side.

"I gave you two pints of my own incompatible blood," she says with a forced smile. "I'm tired but I'm amazed you are standing."

"This too, I shall survive," he says with a smile, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. "I'm worried though."

"You're always worried," she says with a rough chuckle as she hugs him gently. "But what is it this time?"

"This was a purely proxie group," he says with a frown as he looks over her head at the battlefield. "No Iron Dogs at all were involved. It means they knew, and didn't want to risk their own assets, just money for the mercs, which weren't cheap, regardless of where they came from."

"And they knew too much," she says with a sigh, pulling back and looking around as well, her eyes lingering on the personal guard around them.

Richard smirks, "I trust them implicitly, right or wrong."

Tasha nods, accepting that he has made his decision and that she must support it, though her own feelings are that she can't trust anyone but him.

"Either this is a precursor to another attack, or this is it for the time being," Richard says quietly, his mind looking at other possibilities. "They play a long game, and are patient. They've tried one method in a direct approach, the next one will likely be an oblique approach, I think, and more dependent on their own people. Though that is more of a guess than anything else."

"Why do you say that?" she asks, frowning in thought as she tries to match her mate's thought process.

"This was meant to take us out before we were organized and trained enough to hit back," he says, waving at the battlefield. "We took light casualties here, and the probing attacks while I was gone didn't cripple us or disorganize us as they had probably hoped. This revealed our capabilities. The best way to counter is to stay holed up for another couple weeks, then start to go back to normal if no attacks follow. If there's a spy, the next attacks will be less probing and more calculating, subtle."

"You scare me, sometimes," she says with a sigh, hugging him again.

"I know," he says with a sigh. "But you help keep me grounded. Come on, let's go to the house, Adam and Alex have this handled."

Richard and Tasha return to the Bastion, their arms around each other as they walk among the remnants of the battlefield, their mixed group of guards around them scanning the lightening dawn landscape for the enemy they know is coming for them all.

The End…


End file.
